What Boyfriend?
by elfypelfy
Summary: Santana's life is a mess; no friends, no boyfriend, no job. What is worse is that the only thing she can do, she hates. Find out what happens when her neighbours get too neighbourly.
1. Chapter 1

I thank, 'Imagine Brittana' for encouragement and teaching me of the ways of Fanfiction. ;)

* * *

**What Boyfriend?  
**

* * *

Hand curled around the glass lifting it delicately and drinking forcefully she drained the brown contents. It sloshed down her throat overlapping her lips and slipping on to her shirt. Trying to forget the world she smashed the glass against the dark wood, spitting the remains of her chewing gum out onto the bar table slightly yellow stained it rolled its way to the floor leaving a snails trail in its place. All the faces blended into one. Passer by's in the depth of night flickering by outside, bar staff and customers were all the same never remembering them, name tags, faces it didn't matter. All that mattered was the steady flow of sprits being passed to her. If it stopped there were frowns, and unsteady steps, swaying gently towards the door erupting into giddy giggles at a familiar door chime. Just to stand outside minutes later to heave the entire contents of the sloshing liquid mixed with stale food that had been churned hours early onto the pavement or an ungrateful passer. Throat red and tingling she would find herself in unfamiliar place come morning. Fogged up vision, and a scorching angry flame burning in her brain, was there to haunt her of the previous 24hours that had past.

Smacking her lips together, she attempted to conjure up saliva to her desert dry mouth. She sat up; however her muscles had other plans making a soaring pain spread through her with every movement, ruff sheets scraped across her bare skin adding to the torture. She squinted trying to get her bearings, but her eyes refused to open wide enough to get a decent look at the room, from the fear of the bright light attacker that soaked up the room from a half closed curtain to her left, reluctantly she shut her blood shot eyes. Using her other senses she analysed the room, it smelled stale of old sweat and forgotten promises and a strong smell of liquor. However she predicted that this strong odour was coming from her tangled black hair that covered her face. An un-earthly ticking ran through the room smashing of the walls and making the surging headache that she was burdened with hammer with each tick that echoed.

Wincing she fell to the floor with a sigh, her body sunk to the cold wooden floor exposing her back, to an icy breeze. She flung her arms around blindly grabbing her possessions as she drag her self to the over side of the room away from her first threat. She dressed quickly wanting to be rid of the horror of what may have happened, although it seemed clear to her of what in fact had happened. Her eyes slowly adjusted although sensitive to the light behind her. Before stumbling out of the mess of bed sheets and discarded clothes she attempted to get her emotions in check, mentally telling her self that she wanted this, that it was her choice and she could handle whatever lay behind this white door. In reality she was a teenager again nervous of her exam results or if her parents caught her leaning against that old fence taking deep breaths of the cancerous smoke that came from cigarettes. That she hid in the bottom of her underwear draw.  
Her hand shook with nervousness and the metal of the door handle felt hot and heavy in her hand. She pushed firmly on the door; it swung open easily letting out only a small squeak of protest. The open door gave view to an empty but just as messy lounge she took a deep breath and ran to the red door, her exit from this hell.

Cowboy whistles were heard as she slowly walked down the street, often cocky men would comment on her appearance. Sympathetic looks came from some women; however on one occasion she had been pushed of the sidewalk by a woman who had comment on "escorts not being part of civilization". En-raged she had lashed out slapping the startled women full force across the face, leaving a red mark that pulsed with a promise of a bruise for the next day. That however had landed her in a cold cell for eight dreary and terrifying hours. Where she listened to a drunken women reminisce about her dead cat's lives. Uncertain an afraid she simply nodded at the deranged women. If not for her chirpy next door neighbour she would have probably been there for much longer. Rachel was annoying at the best of times, insisting for them to sing all the way back from the station in her white Nissan car.

She made herself back to her home, if you could call it a home. She tried not to stare into the mirrors of the elevator as it made its way to her apartment's floor. She tried not to see a reflection that would only too well reflect the inner torture and hate she had for herself. Dark streaks cascaded from her eyelashes making her look like she had walked straight of a horror movie set. Slight smudges of black also dotted her nose and checks. Her olive skin clung to her thin small frame looking washed out and faded. 'Ping' the elevator had reached the third floor her destination, the chime made her cringe as it cut into her skull. Slowly the metal doors slid open revealing the long wooden corridor; three apartments were stationed on each floor. Number seven and number nine held decoration outside a small plant a welcome mat a stupid catch phrase wall hanger, tat that was referred to by the person living there as personalized decoration. Her legs were beginning to feel heavier and heavier. The black heels that her sticky left hand clung to were making too much nose. Her brain couldn't take it, as they clanked together at every heavy step she took towards her door. She fumbled around struggling to hold her shoes as she searched for the silver key, in her glossy black handbag. "Fuck!" she exclaimed as the bag and its contents fell to the floor. Whimpering like a stray dog she fell to her knees searching with her hands for the key. After struggling to put the key in to the lock and to open the door itself she abandoned the contents of her bag in the hall way. Those items were nothing to her, nothing that could not be simply replaced at the swish of a plastic card. She sunk her limp body into the red leather sofa that was in the lounge and main area of her apartment. It fit her body perfectly just long enough so she could stretch her 5ft 5 body out without her toes dangling dangerously far off the edge. She grabbed a white sheet off the floor and let sleep take over her weak body and mind.

Her dream world was eventually shattered and tore apart by a familiar ringing noise in the late afternoon sun. Groaning she lifted her face of the leather surface that had attached to her face from the sweat oozing from each pore, to stare in the direction of the telephone that lay alone on the wooden floor to the left of the room. After a few more moments it cut through to her answering machine and her own voice rang through her empty apartment. "Hello? Yeah before you begin your boring conversation, erm yawn! I am not in, or I am simply ignoring you. But if you're looking for a good time" her voice then became huskier "and you know what I mean by that then leave a message" the phone beeped alerting the person on other end that they know could leave a message. "Honey" her mother voice began, she rested her head back down on the sofa and listened to what her mother was going to whine about to her through the plastic device. "First I want you to take that voicemail off. A presentable lady should not have such a cheap trash manner about themselves." She grumbled at the thought. "But getting down to the point of why I phoned, your cousin came down last week end you no Marco and Katrina they are both married well ones engaged but that's not the point why don't you bring you boyfriend over for lunch Saturday I expect you to be there with a guest."

Of course she remembered Marco and Katrina, she was also pretty sure that her mother remembered why auntie Edna didn't bring them down to the old family home after her 14th birthday party, where she had set Katrina's hair on fire and had punched Katrina's older brother in the face Marco was 17 at the time it was quite impressive how 14 year old Santana left hook had landed him in the hospital crying as blood gushed out of his nose.

Santana rubbed her sleep ridden eyes and grunted in frustration at the situation her mother had placed her in. She didn't have a boyfriend sure there was plenty of guys that she had went on dates with but none of them had ever clicked. They were always annoying and after the first few minutes of sitting at a table in a busy restaurant she would always begin to form up a list in her mind. It would state what she hated about this person and then it would progress on to the best way to kill this person. So that's why she stopped with idle chit chat and resided to liquor and late nights and a lot of naked body's.

Santana lifted her body out of its warm haven and slowly walked to her just as impersonalized kitchen plain white walls all bare, with an idle towel resting neatly on the counter. She grabbed a bottle of water from the fridge and hungrily devoured the contents of the bottle. After she finished she slammed it in the empty waste basket.


	2. Chapter 2

Hello my precious little fluffy ones. Anyway I would like to announce the promotion of 'Imagine Brittana' she is now my beta. (CLAPS ENTHUSIASTICALLY) So that mean's i get to bully and torture and innocent glee worshiper. Who am I kidding glee worshipers aren't innocent. I would also like to give thanks to the review i received from 'there. ' I hope that this quenches the first you had for neighborly'ness'? ;)

* * *

Santana had lazed around her apartment all day, and devoured all the snacks she could place her hands on. After she had come out of her snack induced coma she realized there was nothing else to do in this asylum of a home, with its plain walls, plain floor and zero personality. Besides the clean white walls were giving her a headache. She preferred the comforting darkness of black, not the sharp heavenly white, it was unfitting for her soul.

Long story short, it was time to get out of this cage and it would be late enough to start her own version of 'a job' when she had gotten herself ready.

The shower pipes made a shuddering noise as the water vibrated through the stainless steel; it blasted down a heavenly ray of water that streamed down Santana's neck and then curled its way down her spine. The boiling water seeped into her very skin, as if it could rid her of the demons that twisted in the pit of her stomach and the aching pain of what was to come of her after all of her sins. There was only so long that she could hide.

Her mind showed her flashing images laced with regret and the strong smell of sweat that was tinged with the hint of iron. The smell lingered in her nostrils and made it hard to breathe. She gasped, trying to breath in oxygen, while her head screamed at her with evil words in a vicious foreign tongue.  
"STOP IT!" Santana screamed, lashing her fists into the glass of the shower wall.  
A crash rang out, muffling the noise of the water pattering at her feet she slipped forward abruptly, but somehow managed to catch herself before she toppled forward towards the ground. A crimson liquid mixed with the water that formed a puddle at her feet, before it swirled down the drain in a mocking fashion, as if to show her she was in fact mortal and not as indestructible as she would like.

She staggered out of the bathroom with her towel clenched in her left hand, to stop her body from being exposed to the walls that stared back, judging her figure. Her right hand was balled into a fist by her side, trying to minimize the amount of blood that dripped to the floor from the large gash that had formed in the middle of her palm. However, the distinctive 'drip, drip, drip' noise could be heard at every wet step she took. She left a red trail and wet foot prints on the wooden floor behind her.

-  
Brittany stepped slowly into the elevator head, her bowed low and eyes falling shut every so often. As the effects from what she had done that day washed over her slim figure from her toes to her blonde golden hair that cascaded down her back.

Brittany Pierce started her day at 6 am; she staggered out of her apartment door as Quinn shoved her assignment in her right hand, almost tripping over the welcome mat in her haste as the smaller blonde pushed her out of the door. The welcome mat had been a gift from Quinn's mum; Mrs Fabray had bought the mat for a house warming party that never happened. Brittany had thought it stupid for an apartment, but Quinn simply placed it there anyway. She was unable to get rid of the hideous brown thing that smelled slightly of moth balls - at least to Brittany, who had face planted it on many occasions.

At 7 am she had started with 4 hour lecture on genetics that dragged on and on and on, and then grabbed a quick lunch that consisted of stale salad leaves that were prepared by a gorilla of a women, whose brow had been covered in a layer of sweat that seemed to have mind of its own as it ran down her face. After forcing down the bitter and slightly salty tasting lettuce leaves, she washed it down with a bottle of water.

Being slightly late on her schedule of the day, she sprinted 3 blocks to 'Schuster Surgery For Animals'. Brittany had worked at the small vets since arriving in New York; she had been attracted to how it always treated the animals in the best possible way. One of the reasons Brittany noticed the place at first was the way it was like a small family – they had a way of treating the animals as if they were new friends, rather than a means of income. At 6pm she checked on the animals that had to stay overnight, and the owner, a Mr Schuster, locked up the place securely for the night.

The work out at the gym round the block wasn't her best idea this week, neither was her idea of walking home after, while drenched in her own sweat from her previous work out. The sweat made her clothes rub against her skin with every movement she made, which caused more pain to echo through her body. She most certainly was going to get blisters in some awkward to explain places.

Quinn was going to kill her; not only was she late for dinner, but there was also no possible way that she could manage to go out clubbing this Friday night. Her mind was clouded with sleep; she hadn't even realized she had forgotten to press the floor she wished the elevator to go to.

"Stupid technology." she whispered to herself as she pressed the floor number on the metal panel built into the elevator wall.

As she walked along to her and Quinn's apartment - number nine - she stopped suddenly, as in front of her pink trainer covered feet was a mess of objects and a black glossy leather handbag. She looked to the door on her left, noticing the crooked golden '8' placed in the centre. She frowned to herself; since she had moved to New York with Quinn for college she had been given no indication that a person had ever lived in the apartment number eight.

She knew that number seven was occupied by a chirpy brown haired girl that kept on trying to talk to her and Quinn. Usually, whenever they would pass her door, the brown haired girl would leap out, bursting with bubbly conversation from a mouth moving at the speed of light. The chirpy woman also had written complaints about the noise they had made from coming back from clubbing late at night. The letters that they received from her where always on pink paper in and envelope sealed with a golden star sticker. This woman had Quinn running to the apartment door from the elevator on numerous occasions. What amused Brittany was that Quinn was not someone who would run from anything or anyone, let alone a small woman with a loud mouth.

But never had she ever seen someone from number eight. Her mind was developing images of what this mysterious neighbour looked like, what they sounded like, what they did for a living. Brittany had always been curious about things, but people and animals intrigued her. It was like a constant need to meet people, to understand them and just be good at something. Brittany was naturally good with people.

Here was her perfect opportunity to meet this person and gain another friend, even if this person seemed a bit too messy and a bit careless with their own possessions; everyone has cons, right?

Brittany bent down, collecting the person's belongings that were sprawled across the floor. With each new item, she made a new prediction of what the person in number eight was like.

Once she had gathered all the items from the floor and hastily shoved them in the glossy bag, she smacked her hand that held the black bag in a vicious vise like grip, against the brown wooden door of apartment number eight.

'Knock' 'Knock'

Santana's head snapped to the door of her apartment where the noise was coming from and her anger swelled inside of her. She discarded the white towel she had wrapped around her small frame, allowing it to fall to the floor and expose her body to all that wished to gaze upon her caramel skin. Santana had had enough of phone calls, pain, and disappointment and now someone thought they could knock on her door. She was ready for the nosey woman that had set her free from the prison who seemed to have a death wish. "Come at me, Rachel," she whispered to herself.

She stepped away from the towel beneath her now. Grinning devilishly to herself, she left puddles in her wake. She grabbed the door handle without a second thought and slung it open until it crashed against the wall. The shattering noise of wood on stone registered first as the door chipped the white wall where the two objects had connected.

'Drip, drip, drip'.

Brittany's mouth and eyes had widened open in shock at first, but as soon as her eyes had glimpsed the neighbour they had went on autopilot, swiftly looking the woman up and down. The woman in front of her was beautiful…no, the word beautiful was too common; the woman in front of her was a goddess. Raven black hair fell to her shoulders in the way smoke would curl around her neck. Her eyes were demon black, with the brown parts deep, full of lust and hidden hate. Lips as red as blood against perfectly caramel skin made you want to lick your own lips. Her breasts were a perfect size on her small frame; they made you want to reach out and touch them, just to make sure they were real. The dip in-between her breasts ran down leading you to her stomach that was toned, producing fine defined lines that trailed to a cute belly button that eventually slid down to…

Santana had been the first to react, grabbing the door again and smashing it back into the frame it normally settled in.

The brown door nearly colliding into Brittany's face cleared her from her daze and set her brain back in to motion, making her quickly jump back in shock.

-3 Hours later.-

Brittany was sat in a bar, sipping on a beer. Her body had had the sweat washed from every crevice and curve, and was now sporting a pair of black skinny jeans and a plain white blouse. She wore very little make up, simply a touch of lip gloss and mascara, her eyes wide beautiful, if not slightly glazed over.

Sitting across from her was her friend Quinn, who had the same make up on, but seemed to ooze confidence that everyone adored from her perfect cheek bones and perfect short cut blonde hair. She could pull off any look, but she wore a t-shirt and flared skirt.

Quinn stared back at the taller blonde from across the booth, eyebrow raised in curiosity. "What you thinking so hard about?" Quinn asked, taking a sip of her own drink. Quinn waited patiently, but no reply came from the blonde across from her. Brittany simply stared at the spot in the middle of the table with that dazed expression she always got when there was something on her mind.

Quinn sighed, and with a quick motion of her foot, smashed it into Brittany's calf.

"FUCK, QUINN! What was that for?" Brittany screamed as she leaped out of her seat, knocking the beer that she had had on the table in the process. It toppled to the floor, smashing as it struck against the laminated pink floor with a loud crash, spraying hers and Quinn's feet with the brown ale.

''Better?'' Quinn asked as Brittany slowly let herself slide back into the baby pink foam cushions of the booth they were sharing. Brittany scrunched her nose up and stared at her friend, waiting for an explanation while she rubbed her calf with tenderness.

Quinn leaned forward, resting her elbows on the table and her head on her hands. "You were somewhere else; you have been since we got here," she stated in sing song voice.

"Quinn, how can I be here and not here?"

Quinn's gaze went cold in reply to what Brittany had said to her. "Brittany Pierce, don't you dare play stupid because you don't want to answer my questions; tell me." Quinn insisted, with her lips forming a straight line.

Brittany blushed "it's nothing really." She thought back to the incident with the person that was painted inside her memory. She was beginning to think she had imagined it, that her mind had played a trick on her due to exhaustion. "I just can't stop thinking about our neighbour," she mumbled, looking down at her hands and playing with the silver band on her thumb.

"Rachel?" Quinn asked, puzzled. Quinn wasn't sure what the brown haired, over enthusiastic, annoying midget had to do with anything. But Quinn was ready to scream and fight with her, all she needed was a reason, one more thing and bang she would be complaining to Rachel for a change.

"No, No, I mean our other neighbour," Brittany said, blushing slightly as she thought again about the goddess' body. 'Why was she even naked?' Brittany wondered, even if it was obvious she had recently bathed. Why answer the door like that? She turned the silver band on her thumb again.

"B," Quinn started more calmly and caring this time. "We only have Rachel in number seven, remember?" Quinn knew that Brittany had an imagination, but she always seemed to amaze her with the stories she came up with. Unicorns, magic ducks, the girl was bizarre, but also amazing in Quinn's mind.

"You tell me not to act stupid, but then you treat me as if… I am?" Brittany bit back, her blue eyes gripping that of her friend's hazel green ones. "We have a neighbour in number eight too, and she was naked, Quinn, naked! And I can't fucking think of anything but her perfect abs, okay!" Brittany turned the silver band on her thumb three times with her right thumb and index finger.

Quinn leaned back, lifting her hand to press it to the now wild looking Brittany's forehead. Brittany shrunk back into her seat, avoiding Quinn's gaze and hand.  
"You have seen me naked." Quinn stated, trying to coax Brittany round to familiar territory. Brittany smiled at her friend "Q," She muttered, looking back in the direction of the short blonde haired mop of her friend that seemed to be slouching in guilt.

Quinn looked back up to Brittany gaze "Tell me about it," she whispered.

Santana was wearing a black skin tight dress that hugged her every curve and was cut low at the front, exposing her cleavage. Her lips had a glossy red coating, making them stand out against her caramel skin. Her eyeliner and mascara was perfect, making her eyes more prominent.

She was leaning against the usual bar that she favoured in the city, her eyes flickering over the crowded room as she strummed her fingers against the surface of the bar. She was looking for her next victim; the person who would supply her with the money she needed to live, the money she need for her next fix of liquor. She was a predator, and every part of her body knew it, and every part of her mind knew that these pathetic people where her prey. Her eyes landed on a flash of blonde hair in the crowd and momentarily she was dragged back to the embarrassing incident that happened to her earlier that day.

****  
"Sorry, I have your bag," the muffled voice shouted through the door. Santana's arms were crossed against her bare chest as she rested her head against the cold wooden door so she could look through the peep hole to the blond who stood staring at the door in front of her, shaking Santana's black bag as if she in fact knew that Santana was watching her. After a moment's pause the blonde girl spoke again "I am Brittany."

Santana held her breath, making sure not to make any indication that she had heard the girl and that she wanted for her to continue speaking through her door. "I am going to go," Brittany declared to the open air around her and tossed the bag towards Santana's door and slouched out of sight of the peep hole.

She let out a sigh. It wasn't the fact that she was embarrassed that the stranger named 'Brittany' had seen her naked, but more to do with that she wasn't prepared for it. She was prepared for Rachel Berry; her obnoxious neighbour's shocked scream as she covered her face with her hands and turned around to face the wall. Not for someone to simply admire her body. Sure, she had a hot body; you had to be stupid not to notice. It was just something about her obvious leering that made Santana angry.

Brittany was tall, taller than her. Blonde and slim, the perfect American girl to look at, but it wasn't that what made Santana's blood boil and want to punch her in the face; it was her blue eyes, they pierced her soul. A soul Santana was sure she didn't have, due to many reasons.

Her eyes landed on a man straight across from her, alone at a table, who was giving her glances every so often out of the corner of his eyes. He had large bags under his eyes and light brown greying hair, but he was certainly interested in what he saw.

"Bingo," Santana whispered, catching his green eyes with her own deep dark brown, with a wink in his direction. She had accepted the challenge.

She walked seductively over to the table with a sway in her hips. Taking the seat across from him, he looked at her curiously and somewhat hopeful "what can I do for you?" he asked politely.

She replied huskily, "it's not what you can do for me, but what I can do for you. Name's Rachel Berry." Santana smirked at her own inside joke, extending her arm in the direction of the man. He took it in his own sweaty one that was shaking ever so slightly with the nervousness that Santana instilled in everyone.

Withdrawing with a gulp, he stuttered out his own name "Mark Evans."

Five pints of brown ale and two shots later and the man was sprawled out over his couch while Santana trailed her hot tongue across the rough skin of his neck. She released the man and let him fall back onto the couch as he began to snore. Tragic, she thought sarcastically as she manoeuvred him so she could plunge her hand into his jacket pocket to retrieve his shabby wallet. After emptying the contents into her own purse, she began rummaging through the drawers in his house. Six small pieces of technology and 700 dollars' worth of cash later and she was out the door.

Haling a taxi, she retreated back to her apartment complex to ditch the stuff and head back out into the gorgeous dark night with enough money to get her drunk to forget everything. Thanks to Mr Evans, the night was looking dark and hopeful.

Sitting at a different bar, she demanded the best whiskey and began the steady flow to replace the desperate gloom that was taking over her life.


	3. Chapter 3

Helloo (waves) So i hope your enjoying summer! I am sure catching a tan off these computer ray's. Thank god for technology! So thank you for the following and the 'fav's' see i can use slang! aaww-zap ;D Also check the beta out 'ImagineBrittana' she is kicking her addiction to being lazy soo reward her ;)

there. , well Santana has a few weird fetishes... so it was the right and wrong person. But who do you wanna see Berry or Brrriitttttaaaaaannny? ;)  
some 'guest',this soon enough?

* * *

It was Wednesday morning and the annoyingly constant noise of city life was echoing in the background as Quinn, dressed in a skirt and white blouse, ran around their open planned kitchen, grabbing toast from the black marble counter top.

She took a huge lion bite of it. "Just talk to her for God's sake, B, I haven't got time for this; I have to be at the court house in twenty minutes," she said in one breath as she continued to bustle around their kitchen apartment. She grabbed her mug on the table, gulping down a last mouthful of coffee that she desperately craved. It slid down her throat, scalding the passage down until it landed in her stomach and she winced in pain, pulling a face and tossing the remaining brown liquid down the sink.

"What am I going to do, Quinn?" Brittany protested in a whine "We always go get Ice cream and a meal today," she said, lowering her voice in sudden sadness of the loss of the planned day. Quinn was at the door, bending down to snatch her hand bag from the floor, and she righted herself, taking a last look back in the other blonde's direction. Brittany was still in her duck onesie costume she wore for bed; the massive hood covered most of her face that bared the large comic like blue eyes similar to her own blue crystals, and an orange beak cap that formed the rest of the face. She was propping her head up in her two palms, looking sorry for herself with a pout formed on her small pink lips.  
Quinn rushed back to the other blonde and leaned down to press a delicate kiss to Brittany's forehead that was peeking out of the orange beak. Brittany smiled slightly but shook her head in a 'no' motion that made the hood swing with her blonde locks from side to side, saying no to the small caring gesture that she had received from Quinn. Quinn realized what she had done and decided to cough to cover up her mistake and withdrew further away from Brittany's face to limit the amount of temptation she had to be placed under. Before grasping the handle of their apartment door Quinn shouted back over her shoulder "Call one of your class mates, Britt!"

Brittany refused to move from the counter, letting her brain swirl with ideas and fantasies. After she had explained to Quinn the previous night, the smaller blonde's face had expressed shock before morphing back into an emotionless small smile. Quinn had offered her half-hearted advice of just talking to the raven haired woman that lived in number 8. Quinn didn't fully understand, though she never did. Although Brittany had only had one brief encounter with the woman, she seemed to know that knocking on her door to just request simply chatting would end up in another door to the face motion that may engrave her pale skin with the imprint of the door's gold number plate. She was left with the option to attempt to casually bump into the other woman outside of her apartment, which posed no door threat for her, but if the track record of never seeing the raven haired woman until yesterday was anything to go, by she would have to be a full time stalker to catch the goddess outside her apartment.

That only left one option.

Her fist smacked into the wood of Rachel Berry's door. It would be torture for the blonde, but it was her only hope.

Within moments the small brunette had answered with a smile plastered on her face as she wiped her hands down the front of the pink and white checked apron, leaving a residue of flour.  
Brittany took in the appearance and the layout of Rachel's apartment that was placed in front of her. It was the same layout as the one she and Quinn shared, having the kitchen to the left after the small passage way from the door. That passage held one door to a closet on the right that had gold stars printed from the top left to the bottom right of the white door.

"Brittany," the small woman exclaimed, indicating for the girl to walk further into her apartment. Brittany accepted the smaller girl's indication to explore her home and took steady steps beyond the threshold into the new area. She passed Rachel's kitchen first, both the walls and floor coloured a baby pink similar to that of her apron; the laminated floor checked pink and white, with the electrical kitchen items also either pink or white. Brittany inhaled deeply, taking in the smell of muffins that were fresh that seemed to come from the kitchen oven. Brittany took in the large Broadway poster of the theatre production _Wicked_ hanging on the wall across from the open planned kitchen with wide eyes as Rachel muttered on about being grateful that Brittany had finally taken up her offer of having tea and cake, but being disappointed that her friend Quinn was not with her.

Rachel slipped out of the lounge area as she told Brittany to sit on a large family couch that had hand knitted cushions dotted around it in a patterned fashion.

Rachel's lounge area was cluttered with color, all clashing wildly as if each one was screaming out to be appreciated first. The floor was wooden, but had been painted white, however a large crocheted rug took up most of the main floor space, its multi-colored links lacing together; purples, pinks, and reds slithering and entwining until they disappeared under the sofa that Brittany had seated herself on. Across from her was an oversized cane chair with half a dozen knitted cushions piled upon each other. The small dark coffee table in the middle held a gold star placemat with the words 'Rachel Berry is a star' and the walls were all a deep cream color, with odd family photos and mirrors hanging in a three to three ratio along the walls. The odd thing was that Rachel did not own a TV, although she did have large sound system and exercise bikes that were near the windows on the left side of the room.

Rachel reappeared as Brittany began turning the silver band on her thumb in small circles back and forth. Brittany was anxious; her hands were sweating, her tongue was dry, and her stomach was doing flips. It wasn't that she had to talk to the intolerable Rachel Berry that was making her anxious; it was about who she wanted to talk about with Rachel. Rachel was now no longer wearing the apron, instead you could see what had been under the bright pink; a dark green jumper with a yellow star in the middle, accompanied with a school girl style tartan and mustard skirt. She carried a tray with her and placed it on the coffee table, offering to pour a cup of tea for Brittany and handing her a muffin to go with it.

Rachel talked mostly, only needing Brittany's input of a nod every so often as Brittany nibbled on the blueberry muffin after every sip of tea. She hated the taste of tea; it was bitter and boring, and even with the three heaps of sugar it still tasted like spinach flavored water to her. The muffin was delicious though, and seemed to change the taste of the tea so she took to the habit she was doing now. It also seemed to help the nerves in her stomach. The room seemed to draw silent, Brittany hadn't realized at first that Rachel had finished her discussion on how to tune a piano…or was it on how tune vocals? God, for one so small she sure could talk a lot.

"So Brittany, is there anything you would like to know?" Rachel asked while offering her more tea, waving the tea pot with little pink dots covering it in swirly design.

Brittany gagged as the brunette poured more tea into her cup, not knowing if Rachel was asking in general, or about pianos or singing or whatever she had been talking about. Brittany looked down to the amber mush in her cup, taking a breath of air and keeping her eyes on the liquid mush. She decided just to ask what she had on her mind; she did come here to ask about it, after all. She gulped, which seemed to echo and ring in her ears. Suddenly she could hear her heart in her head. This was it, this was breaking point.

"Rachel what do you know ermm… well, about our other neighbour?" Brittany stuttered out while trying to distracting her vision with something other than the cup. She could feel her cheeks rising in temperature. Brittany battled an invisible war with herself in her head on the reasons of why she seemed to be nervous and anxious when it came to this anonymous woman, while Rachel took a moment to evaluate the question she had been asked.

"You mean Santana?" Brittany eyes flickered and then sparked with light at the name, it certainly fitted the goddess perfectly; the name 'Santana' was mysterious, intoxicating and beautiful, even in the way Rachel spat the words out bitterly. But could Rachel be giving her a name? A name to the images of a face that she could not tear from her very mind? After a moment more of Brittany's blank gaze in the direction of Rachel's small form that was being engulfed by all the oversized cushions in the cane chair, Rachel shifted uncomfortably before righting herself on her perch. She then remembered her duty to begin her gossiping frenzy of blurting out her deep hate for her other neighbour, Santana Lopez.

"Santana Lopez is her name, although she likes to think herself as somewhat the superior race."

"What do you mean, 'superior'?" Brittany bit her lower lip in concentration, wanting to absorb all the information on this woman named Santana; for some untold reason, the few seconds that she had saw Santana had casted a hold over her. The few seconds weren't exactly normal in any case. But she could feel the dark eyes cast out and draw her in, ensnaring Brittany in her presence.

"Yes. She is not the likes you should associate with, Brittany. She has a sharp tongue as quick as a python. We have all known girls like her in High School, Brittany. The popular cheerleader; the ones that make our lives a living hell, while being on the top of the social ladder." Rachel had started animatedly moving her hands around, describing and showing her passionate disgust for Santana. Brittany had slowly and silently leaned forward, her eyes wide, cartoon like as Rachel continued to talk a mile a minute. "Not only does she think that it is her responsibility to humiliate me, but also to ruin my chances of fame and stardom, do you follow?" Suddenly realizing Rachel had asked her a question, Brittany shook her head indicating no. Rachel sighed, looking away and slightly blushing before stamping her left foot down and turning back towards Brittany. "She…" Rachel's voice broke. Coughing, she cleared her throat "While me and Finn," Rachel fidgeted slightly "my boyfriend Finn and I were having a pleasant evening together at a local bar on 22nd on west; that's when she prowled up to us."  
-

The bar was filling up and more and more bodies seemed to press and push their way into the small dark room. Rachel smiled over at the lanky male that leaned back against his chair, stretching his legs in front and slightly grazing his leg against Rachel's ankle. A crimson color filled her cheeks as she looked down at the quite plain table and equally plain lemonade in front of her. Her brown hair fell forward, covering her features. Finn, the man that was her company for the evening, realized her discomfort and retreated his leg, coughing and also blushing slightly at his actions.

He spoke softly trying to put the small brunette at ease. "You didn't have to dress like you were going to work, you know?" Rachel winced, looking up at his boyish smile and his hunched spine as he tried to look less like a giant and more like a person. Rachel smiled, not really knowing how to take the comment; her head was feeling light and her body felt full of air. She had not drank alcohol since she was 17 years old, as a personal rule for a 'successful career and life', and she abided by it now, choosing to remain with the soda.

Santana was leaning against the bar, smirking as she watched the awkward couple interact. She recognized Rachel straight away as the women that insisted on writing letter after letter of complaints and when that didn't work for the small brunette she decided to knock on Santana's door. No, no, no, that would simply not do for Santana. Besides, this was better than TV for her. Watching the couple make their stupid comments was like her own personal puppet show. But she was growing restless. Even her persistent spiking of the annoying girl's drinks wasn't gaining any more entertainment. It was time to up her game, bring out the real fun.

Santana prowled her way to the three seated table with a slight sway in her hips. Without even muttering a word she slid into the spare seat, making both sets of eyes jump to her figure. She, however, only looked at Finn "and who are you, Handsome?" Santana spoke in a deep, husky, seductive tone and still refused to pay any attention to the small woman at the table. Finn refused to look at Santana for more than a second, which made Santana's lips curl into a small snarl of a smile 'this is too good' she thought to herself, batting her dark eyelashes.

Rachel, not wanting to be ignored for any longer, spoke up. Her voice, however, was slightly lower than her usual pitch "Santana?"

"Shut it, Midget," Santana bit back, waving her hand in dismissal of Rachel and keeping her gaze set on the lanky male. She could feel it, the awkwardness seeping into her bones; it was humming a dark, warm, buzzing that rumbled its way to her very bones in a way that made her feel exhilarated.

Finn seemed to realize that the two women knew each other and gave Rachel a wide eyed pleading look. Rachel seeming to gather courage from her other half's terrified wide eyes, speaking again, sterner this time. "Santana!" she said looking at the girl's dark raven locks as her face was out of her view.

Santana heard that though and turned her head curiously in her direction, raising and eyebrow and slightly cocking her head. "Do I know you?" Santana asked, almost bored. But still, she enjoyed the current scene playing exactly how she wanted. She always did like playing with dolls. Maybe she could make a doll of Rachel.

"I am your neighbour." Rachel puffed out her nose.

Santana hesitated as she pretended to think "oooh," she hummed. "Rebecca, right?" Santana heard the voice in her head cackle in appreciation at her acting.

"Rachel," she corrected.

"Still a slut, no matter what your name. I don't know how you're still earning; isn't 'school girl' overrated in your line of business?" Santana air quoted the word business and school girl and then turned back to Finn who seemed to look at Santana, but never at her eyes.

"What?" the lanky male asked Santana.

She smiled at him. "Didn't you know midget of the year here, is a prostitute. Hell, she's probably had the whole male population of the bar. Maybe even a few of the women." Santana waved her finger at the people in the bar, indicating her point. Finn seemed to leer at her cleavage, the deep red dress clinging for its life to her thin but muscular frame.

Rachel began protesting in a whiny, high pitched wail "That is not-"But didn't get any further as Santana cut her off.

"Okay. Quick test, School girl "Santana began stroking her tongue elegantly against her plump red lips, readying them for the question that was about to tumble out. "What is your surname, Rachel?"

"Berry? Why?" Rachel answered, confused at the strange question and change of topic. Santana stood up and for a second Rachel sighed in relief at the prospect of her and Finn being left alone again. However, her boyfriend's eyes were still glued to Santana's figure as she turned to them again "Just to prove my point," she winked at Finn, who stumbled to the side of his chair, caught off guard by the forced eye contact.

Santana smiled to herself deviously before raising her voice to be heard by everyone in the room "HEY, YOU DRUNKEN SLOBS!" as soon as she spoke those words everything went early silent she smiled again to herself, running her hands down her dress. "Who here knows a Rachel Berry? Raise your hand!" The entire bar raised their hand a few slower than other confused but struck by the beauty and charm the Santana held over them. Rachel held her breath as Finn stared in awe. Santana however was not finished "Keep your hand up if you have fucked her!" a few women in the bar let their hand lower, however all the males in the bar kept them firmly in the air. Without looking back, Santana flipped her hair and walked out, leaving Finn and Rachel alone once more.

Rachel was still holding her breath and did not realise it until Finn had walked out on her. As soon as Finn had left, Rachel's sobbing started. Unknown to everyone, Santana watched from across the street, laughing under her breath as she felt her heartbeat accelerate and burn with a strong passion.

-  
"I have never been to a social gathering since, and if she thinks that I will stop complaining, she is wrong. It is within my rights, she can't take that away," Rachel concluded, looking at Brittany for an opinion. Brittany breathed deeply, letting the oxygen clear her mind and sort through the stuff.

"I was a cheerleader," Brittany said, not having the energy nor the words to say anything else to the other girl in the room. After a few minutes she left, the following conversation having been on edge and awkward. Brittany had found a few things out, one of them being that she though Rachel was scary and going on psychotic. Also, her apartment was like bunny sick.

-  
The tanned man with the low hat clenched his jaw, staring at the sleeping woman's form. As he bustled around her room he picked up objects to inspect and then either placed them back down or [to] shoved them into his dark trench coat that covered his muscular frame and fell to the floor. His eyes were deep brown, not as dark as Santana's, his more resembling red than her dark black ones. His face held light stubble and a devilish grin as he tapped the girl's forehead a couple of times with his index finger while peering down at her face that was scrunched up in sleep.

Santana lunged forward, grabbing the arm that had touched her. She sprang from her duvet while twisting his arm, causing them both to fall to the floor and she hissed as she collided on the wooden floor, the man already pinning her down to it with two strong arms. Somehow on the fall to the floor, the man had climbed out of the Santana's grip and reversed them.

Santana lashed around on the floor wildly while hysterically screaming in Spanish at her attacker. He spoke evenly as he glanced at the clothes that she was wearing "Did you forget?"  
She suddenly stopped struggling, her body going rigid on the floor, staring up at his reddish brown gaze. He lifted himself up and waited for the young women to also stand.

"I hate you," Santana said once on her feet and a few paces away from the man.

"I do not require you to like me, Santana, only to do as I want, when I want." He smirked, trailing his eyes down her body; she wore only a large old Halo gaming shirt and small black lace panties. Her toned legs caught his attention as he spoke again without looking up, "cute."

"What do you want, Puckerman?" She breathed, somewhat scared to be any more demanding, but ready to smash a lamp into his head if the need occurs.

He handed her a black envelope baring the sign she had tattooed on her right shoulder blade; the yin sign that ended with a swirling snake that was in the shape of an S. "Who?" she asked, going into a business mode.

Grasping the letter with her own hand, he kept hold of the envelope and looked into her eyes for a breath of a moment. "The blonde in number 9," he nodded and let go of the envelope, being grateful that he did not need to glance her dark eyes again. Leaving Santana alone in her room with the black envelope, the symbol tattooed on her shoulder itched with want for its twin being so close.

It had been a year since she was last assigned a job. She had decided not to go searching for him and his 'jobs'; if she did, she would never be free of them and they would assign her a feeble pathetic youngling to work with, or a partner. Santana was alone - always alone - to be with someone was a crime to her nature. She went rouge thinking she would be free. Truly, she would never be free of Puck and the Copper Heart Corporation.

In one way or another they would always be with her in the dark shadows, watching by the mark on her shoulder that branded her as one of them. They could make sure that it was impossible for her to work in a legal corporation and he could beckon and summon her whenever he wished to do so. That's what she hated the most, never knowing when she would have to do a task for him like a slave. It angered Santana beyond compare. Making her always live in a fear of being recognized, she was confined to the night and the memories that haunt her of the Copper Heart Corporation; the Copper Heart Corporation made her a monster.

Anger filled her veins. Her eyes grew dark black like an omen as she ripped the letter from the envelope in a quick left handed motion, screaming with hate as she fell to her knees.

The letter was made out of parchment, expensive and crisp. The scroll was high crafted calligrapher, as if the letter was a piece of art, not a means of communication. She laughed hoarsely at how ironic it was to have something so beautiful be the bringer of immoral acts. It reminded her of herself as her eyes moved fast over the letters, automatically scanning it and storing to memory. As usual, on this letter they addressed her by her rank number in the corporation. It was the strength of her power she noticed how her number had lowered and smirked slightly, knowing that soon she would be able to attempt control over her destiny and her path. Not yet though, she was still too weak for Puck, even if his position was 2 and not 1. She still needed more. The only other thing on the letter that would be unique to only her was the red wax seal mark at the bottom what was also the same as her tattoo.

Dear No. 4 Lopez

I hope you do not think yourself as immune to us? By separation of the order of our corporation, you pose a threat, only increasing the amount of time and effort we place into making sure you don't do anything foolish.

Now, enough with the pleasantries. You see, I have more pressing matters at hand; ones that you're probably all too aware of.

24 hours ago, a young blonde girl posed a threat to our world. As you are the current neighbour to such person residing in apartment number 9, it is only convenient that you be the one to either engrave her or destroy her.

We leave this up to your capable hands. Good luck, Miss Lopez.

We will be watching.

As usual the letter was brief, making sure the reader would understand their task, but not giving any opportunity for anyone else to do so. If it fell into the hands of a traitor or a different Corporation, the results for everyone would be catastrophic.

Santana stood up, going straight for her side table and pulling out a silver lighter bearing her mark. She flicked it open in a swift, fluid motion and burned the letter, letting it fall to the floor in flames.  
Santana would not engrave someone; it was too complicated and too tiring. She much more preferred a swift blade to their stomach and fast plunge to their heart with her silver friend. She would not leave a certain mark upon their skin, making them part of her hell. If she marked them it would be her burden to train them and that was something No. 4 didn't do and the corporation knew that.

She would destroy the blonde, whoever this person may be she would bathe in their blood come tomorrow's nightfall. She was weak now though; she needed the strength she gained from drunks in crowded bars to make sure she did this task correctly without a trace.

She could already feel the nervousness and fears of other people sink into her bones; the fools would flee if they could while she batted her eyes in their direction. She could taste all the power in anticipation. She thought that maybe if she was lucky she would bump into Rachel Berry and have some sweet ass fun too. As much as she hated her job, what she was did have its perks.

Santana tiptoed out of her apartment slowly, closing the door and trying not to make a noise as she looked towards apartment 7 in suspicion of the women who lived there. God damn it; her master's plan would not work if she was caught this early by the brunette and her annoying words; she needed props.

She slid her key out after turning it in the lock and began tiptoeing along the corridor.

Unknown to Santana, Brittany was watching the woman with an amused smile spread across her face.

"What are you doing?" Brittany asked curiously, biting her bottom lip in the process; a habit she had picked up during math in high school.

Santana gulp and staggered forward and ungracefully bumped into the plant placed near Rachel's apartment door. It swayed forward and then hit the floor, smashing and spraying mud around Rachel's door. ''Shit!'' Santana spat out as she waved her hands around in front of the dirt covered floor as if she could clean it up with the wave of her hands; in actual fact, she probably could. She span around on her heels, ready to glare at whoever it was that caused this disaster.

Blue eyes caught brown and for a second Santana hesitated at the boldness of the woman in front of her that actually managed yet again to make her feel off guard by eye contact. How could this girl look into her eyes without a trace of fear?

"What does it look like I am doing?" Santana asked, crossing her arms across her body and raising an eyebrow in challenge at the girl. She noticed the color of her hair and the direction the girl had come from while placing jigsaw pieces together.

"Making a fool out of yourself," Brittany challenged, trying to match the glare and then giving up and placing her goofy smile across her face once again.

Santana hesitated for a moment; was this girl actually challenging her? "Who do you-" Santana started, but was cut off by Brittany's chirpy voice.

"Rachel's out, you know." Santana raised a perfect eyebrow at the girl she had been cut off by and smiled. A challenge; maybe she could have fun with this job after all.  
Brittany took a step toward to the girl, who held her stance.

"YOU SAVED A FELLOW SURVIVOR!" Screamed out of the leather jacket that Santana was wearing. Her eyes widened in shock, pulling her entire body to an unusual stance as she scrambled to take an iPhone out her pocket.

"It will be my mum," Santana said, then realizing after that she didn't need to tell the blonde that.  
She opened the text:  
"Hija! Don't forget Saturday Night Lunch! BRING A GUEST!"  
A second after Santana had read the message another one was displayed:  
"Your Abuela will lock you in the dog house if you don't. x"

Santana rolled her, eyes thinking to herself 'oh, that's where Abuelo is; in the fucking dog house.'

* * *

Okay so i doodled out the tattoo for anyone that wants to check it out on my tumblr page post/28711352748/


	4. Chapter 4

Thanks to Imagine Brittana who without I would have very bad punctuation. Thanks to thereuare for the review/message thing :) If anyone has any questions you can find my tumblr on my profile or just drop me a line.

* * *

"Yeah my mum" Santana breathed out. Placing her phone back in the leather jacket pocket, it always occupied, whenever she wore her favourite trade mark leather friend that stopped at her belly button.

"Wow, how you know that?" Brittany giggled slightly tilting her head to the side slightly to look at the frown that seemed to form on the other woman's brow. Brittany fidgeted slightly as coal black eyes grabbed her blue ones in icy grip of a battle of the strongest. But in a second, it was all over and those previous eyes were being replaced by raven locks that flowed past her shoulders. "Hey wait" Brittany screamed after beginning to jog to the elevator to catch up with Santana. Brittany felt like she had won a battle with those eyes, but instead of being rewarded by the raven haired goddess she got the feeling she was being punished.

Brittany stood in silence with the other women near the elevator waiting for the red blinking number above the metal doors to reach there floor. All that seemed to echo through the blondes mind was 'say something, you don't tell someone to wait and then stand in silence'.

Brittany gulped loudly as the familiar 'ping' and the slight 'creak' of metal doors broke the awkward silence and allowed them to shuffle forward into a small box, enclosing them together.

The feeling of un-sureness tingled through Santana's stomach and rippled its way to her heart making it lurch in discomfort. It was unusual for Santana to feel anything other than anger or pleasure, but here she was standing in an elevator feeling more emotions than she had felt, in possibly all her years on this planet. This alone was enough reason for her to consider the actions she would take, to place her plan together. She reached out about to tap the buttons located in the steel wall that would deposit them to the car park. At that moment the delicate art form of 'her plan' fused together in her mind showing her a clear path, of what way to go, to gain what she wanted. This plan meant that she would have to rely on her charms and manipulation, to wheel an attraction. That is what she needed to do, to uncover the reason why the 'Copper Heart Corporation' wished her to rid the world of a blubbering blonde idiot. The quest of killing is something she could easily do, with a quick swipe of her steel friend along Brittany's throat, she could do just that, kill the blonde. She would also be able to watch as Brittany's blood covered the floor and some of the silver steel panel walls in a glorious red color, without evening bating her long black lashes. But the thought of spending time with Brittany sparked a new warm feeling in her own blood so foreign to Santana that she decided to ignore such a feeling, after all nothing good came from feelings. It was clear she needed to get some kind of distraction.

"Car park or?" She questioned the blonde woman turning her head and placing her best fake smile upon her features, her inner being growling for much needed attention.

Brittany was caught off guard instantly by the close eye contact. She searched her brain for words that usually never failed her. But they did do just that, and failed her miserably. She blabbed out a disgruntling; "Err…I dunno." In response to what Santana had said, and instantly began to mentally kick herself for saying such words that only came from a teenage boy, with his hands down his tone of her voice originating from something full of lust, and the haunting of naked images that flickering through her mind.

This earned her a sigh and an eye roll from Santana,that seemed to perfect on the caramel skinned woman to Brittany that deep in her bones twitched with need just to reach out and engulf her in a hug of gratitude for the adorableness that seeped out of her every pore, from such a thing as an eye roll. But with that thought Brittany was brought crashing back down to earth as Santana mouth began to form sneering cocky words.

"What are you going to do ride the elevator all day? Like some sad loser, until someone tells you were to go? Looks like it's your lucky day Barbie, you get to explore New York, with the one and only Santana Lopez."

Brittany could only stare at the women in surprise she was caught off guard by Santana's words they were uncaring and close to being hurtful, and would have probably injured someone's ego. But this wasn't 'someone' this was Brittany, malicious word were directed at her every day of her life and had eventually became second nature to the blonde. She hardly felt the sting caused by them, so used to hearing; greasy bloated men with an ever flowing sweat, calling her all kinds of names, she was use to her fellow cheerleaders in high school mocking and tormenting her, the cackle's from them still ringing in her ears. She had talked to Rachel and was mentally ready for these insults, so why did they still catch her off guard? Making her gut drop and sending her spiralling back into her defence mechanism, she could feel her IQ points peeling away and dropping to the floor as she stared back at Santana.

She just wanted to spend time with the dark mysterious woman, for time to get to understand her. But to be told by Santana herself that she basically had no choice in the matter. That made Brittany's throat feel as if a thick swollen chunk of food had lodged it's self in the passage clinging to the skin surrounding it, refusing to go down. She, herself was never one to say no to some, perhaps out of her fear of being portrayed as a bitch. But know she felt a different kind of fear build within her, as her head automatically nodded in agreement back at Santana. Some may call her 'irresponsible' for that decision, to agree to spend time with someone, they had just met. But to Brittany that had all been simply calculated, that if Santana wanted to harm her than she just as easily could break into her home, than to do it anywhere else.

Even with her mathematical equation, it still made her feel unsure the feeling in her throat refusing to budge. But the building flame of happiness of getting the chance to try to understand what was behind the mask that Rachel Star Berry and Santana Lopez seemed to make. That well was something that Brittany would never back down from. The women had sparked her interest from the moment that door had swung open. The moment Brittany had seen beads of water run down her neck and between her breasts. In that moment she had to learn about this woman she would rather herself dead than alive if not. The psychological reasons brimming with possibilities as why she would answer the door in such a state and the more Brittany talked to her, the more she needed to know, the more there was to learn to figure out to decipher. It was like one of Quinn mystery books only more intriguing.

*****  
The apartment block that Brittany lived in had a car park underneath, the kind that went deep underneath the ground. The ones made, so you had to propel your vehicle up the ramp and swipe a card against a barricade to get out. It was dark hole, grungy, similar to a bear cave and possibly as dangerous. There were hardly any lights and the ones that where there, either didn't work or flickered with a mischievous glowing orange and at any wink would drive you into sudden pounding darkness. There were stairs next to the elevator that smelled like alcohol and stale vomit from late night party antics. Brittany herself had thrown up pink lumpy tuna smelling vomit against the stairs and walls, as Quinn attempted haul her up them. Quinn was actually the reason why they had chosen this apartment, it was close enough to both their schools and Quinn's yellow Beetle would be nice and comfortable in the dark black blank of the so called 'car park' underneath.

Santana had walked off to the left as soon as the doors had slid open and had entered the darkness without displaying any hesitation of fear, leaving Brittany not knowing what else to do but shuffle awkwardly behind her. They headed towards the lockers for the use of apartment residents, that where held up against the wall. Each individual locker bared a number of an apartment, the lockers where for certain people according to their apartment number. The only source of light here was the flickering of a bulb above them, making a shadow cast down over the top of Santana's face what her features look deformed, the very darkness upon her face whispering, threating the blonde.

Santana opened the one with the number '13' wrote in red spray paint across the top of her original number 8, a light flickered on inside her locker as she opened it. Making her face turn back to the beautiful form that was there previously, Santana pulled out two helmets setting one on the floor and handing the other to Brittany who was staring at the number 9 neatly wrote in black marker on Quinn and hers locker door, she had never seen Quinn use it. They were supposed to hold items for the car to clean it or mend in them. But as Brittany directed her gaze and looked into Santana's locker it held; another leather jacket, and couple of cans of spray paint, nothing remotely interesting in Brittany's mind. Santana shook the helmet that was in the extended arm out to Brittany so she could take it Brittany flicked her eyes to the black open faced helmet. She risked asking a question to the raven haired women. Her pulse beating faster as she spoke; "What's this? " Brittany asked carefully taking hold of the helmet, and begging her body not to begin to shake under the presence of the glare from Santana and of course the now small weight in her hand.

Santana turned back to her locker closing it as she spoke. "Well Blondie we can't have you smashing your precious skull against the road." She reached down grabbing her own helmet before moving around with an agile grace past the tightly packed cars then coming to a halt in front of a black Harley Davison. Santana shoved her full face helmet over her black locks, before saddling herself comfortably on her pride and joy. The motorised vehicle was the only love in her life and anyone could tell by the glowing paint work and freshly polished glicine that you could see even in the bad lighting of the car park.

Brittany stood still, motionless her mouth hanging open low, gaping at the picture in front of her. Santana had zipped her black leather jacket up covering her white vest top covering the girl all in black. She was now seated on motorcycle. "You drive… a… motor bike? " Brittany questioned her gulping down the tremble that she was positive that leaked out of her voice she could feel the pit of her stomach churn, her body being reacting towards the sight in front her eyes with slightly arousal. From Santana's black boots to her skinny black jeans to the leather that clung to her body snuggly. She was picture perfect she wished she could just run back to her apartment to grab Quinn's very expensive SLR camera and just take a thousand and one pictures.

Santana grinned back at Brittany proudly at the reaction she was getting from the blonde. "Not just a motor bike, a Harley Davison XR1200X." Santana winked at Brittany before sliding the vizier down on her helmet that was tinted black also going with the bike color, the real reason however was so you couldn't see her face.

Brittany still standing stared back at Santana body, her entire image "I…" Brittany began as half her brain told her not to get on the bike, her heart beating faster as if a wild deranged animal was trying to break free from the cages of her ribs. Her mind showed her flashing images, of the dark coal black orbs of Santana eyes that had held on to her with a death grip, when they were on the same floor as their apartment. But after a second more an image of dark brown ones fluttered in, replacing the black ones. With that Brittany shoved the helmet on. With shaking hands she climbed on behind Santana trying with all her might not to touch the other women, what was increasingly difficult with the space they had, she could feel the other woman's warm body as her own let shakes from nervousness ripple through it like tidal waves at being sat so close. Santana terminated all Brittany's action by revving the engine; she turned to look at Brittany through her helmet she smiled gently at how nervous the girl was. But this smile wasn't spiteful or greedy this was different from her normal smiles. She rested on her right arm, turning to grab Brittany's hand and place it on her stomach it felt strange but right and not forced, like her usual interactions with other humans. She pulled of straight away making Brittany lurch forward into Santana's back and in fear Brittany's grip on her waist increase to a death hold. Brittany's stomach lurching with butterflies at the fast motion, sending her previously devoured food coursing back up the pipes they had her stomach, only to be swallowed again by Brittany's constant gulps.

Santana took the usual route to a bar 'The Pigs Heart' she felt she could intimidate Brittany and be nice to her there.

They drove for 30 minutes, Santana going way over any speed limit and Brittany's hands gripping on furiously, tighter, and tighter. Santana had the feeling of infinity at driving at this speed. It made her feel invincible and powerful, but today she wouldn't lie she did kind of like the fact that her structure on the bike was the only reason Brittany hadn't met the concrete in mangled corpse of blood and lifelessness.

Brittany noticed the route; they were in East New York. Why where they here? Quinn told her never to go here, not without her at least. The inner panic that Quinn had fashioned for her was swirling. She was in 'Brooklyn' with a stranger, on a motorbike. Her grip tightened, but she was gripping on to the very reason why she was here.

Santana smiled pulling up at seeing the familiar sign, the red demon glow reflecting in her vizier. Two years ago, she had found this bar in the lowest point of her life, as she was running in Brooklyn. It's the kind of place the cops avoid, due to the amount of paper work they would have to fill in. There is also higher chance that these so called 'cops' would be shot three times in the head before they even got close to the door. That's what made it, the 'perfect place' to intimidate Brittany just by the scenery alone of this place it would send shivers trembling down her spine. With muscular giants of men sweating from every pore as they leaned over pool tables, with their sleeve tattoos exposed to the air that either represented the gang they were in or there hideous girlfriends. They screamed at each other for no reason vulgar words been spat out from their mouths in all directions, just content with hearing their own grisly voices. That would mean for Santana honest answers from Brittany, as she would answer without thinking too much into what she was saying, but if the blonde continued to act like she has been, honesty wouldn't be a problem for Santana.

Santana climbed of her bike locking it and sliding her helmet off her head in a fluid motion that took year of practice to maintain.

"What are we doing here?" Brittany asked staying sat on the bike in cold fear.

"Grabbing drinks" Santana responded without hesitating or looking at the other woman.

Of to the left of the car park near to the medium sized bar, with its flickering red sign that stated the name of the pub the 'The Pigs Heart' a group of women huddled together standing close to the entrance door, there was a street lamp lighting up there figures. They were all dressed in really tight fitting shorts or skirts so short you would see their underwear, if they were wearing any. They were wearing tube tops over breasts bulging and stretching the thin material. Large silver heels covered there feet. It registered to Brittany that these where hookers, but as Santana passed them on the way to the bar one of them hollered at her; "Look who it is, our girl Snix." Santana turned to them slightly nodding to the group before looking back to Brittany, who had only managed to climb off the bike. Santana spoke confidently at her as if calling a dog ''Come on Blondie.'' before walking into the pub with the blacked out windows covered by layers after layers of paint. Brittany followed scared to be alone in the darkness of the car park, but before she could enter through the doors the group of women wolf whistled at her and began mumbling and whispering amongst each other.

"The Pigs Heart" Brittany whispered breathing her last piece of fresh air before stepping through the door.

Santana had waited at the door inside.

The brick work inside was old and mismatched with orange and brown splatted in different areas, low beams hung from the ceiling requiring anyone of Brittany's height or taller to duck there head to go beneath them. To the left, on a raised part of the room held three pool tables where large men where spilling drinks, arguing, and fist bumping when they won, seizing money off their lost party with a disgruntling laugh. Santana lead them away from that area heading to the right where the bar was and line of booth's covered in red leather. She picked the one in the darkest corner with a candle sat on the top of the table, that Brittany was sure wasn't there a moment ago. Santana sat her helmet down on the table and slid into the seat. Brittany followed Santana's movements moving in across from her. She noticed a few similar dressed women to those outside dancing around certain men, but Brittany averted her eyes away noticing Santana was staring at her.

"What?" Brittany asked fidgeting with her hand and swirling the ring on her thumb under the table to calm herself so she could at least act normal.

Santana noticed the delicate movement under the table she raised her eyebrow, smiling slightly "are you touching yourself?"

"No…" Brittany stuttered "I, well…I am, not like that…" Brittany began to explain, but Santana cut her off "Relax." she winked "And tell me your favourite drink."

Brittany eye's widened realising the girl was teasing "Chocolate milk." Brittany stated, if there was one promise she was going to keep to Quinn that day, it would be to not to drink alcohol without Quinn there. Also chocolate milk was her favourite. Why wouldn't a gorgeous, chocolate tasting liquid, not be her favourite?

Santana heard the bitter violent voice inside her head laugh, at how she was failing to charm the woman. 'Fuck was Santana stupider than she thought she was, or perhaps she just needed time? God why was this so hard, what was wrong with her? She could easily get anyone to do anything for her, but now when the only thing she wanted to do was for Brittany to tell her everything she rebelled of all people to rebel it was her?'

Santana slips to the bar to require a Lemonade for Brittany due to the lack of 'Chocolate milk' and a bottle of beer for herself. All the time away from Brittany was spent pondering on what way to approach a conversation with her.

They have been sitting at the table in silence, for a while. Brittany sipping her Lemonade through a straw, that she had asked Santana to get her. Santana's eyes where constantly on her, curiously taking in every subtle movement from the slight sniffs, to her red tongue fishing around for the straw to slip back between her parted pink delicate lips.

It takes a few gulps of the calming sugar for Brittany to pluck up the courage to propose a game that they could play, that would make it less awkward.

"Do you want to play 20q?" Brittany asks taking a sip while waiting for a response.

After not getting a verbal one from Santana only a head tilt and a slight crinkle appear on her perfect forehead, Brittany begins to ramble; "It was only an idea, to like… Get to know each other, I thought."

Santana smiled slightly "Yes, I will play." she says calming Brittany nerves that had reached a new high. A smile forms over Brittany's face and Santana suddenly feel like she is finally doing something right, perhaps this bar wasn't the right idea after all?

"I will start." Brittany states proudly she hums a little while she thinks of appropriate question. She is playing with the straw that is still in the pint glass, half it body submerged in the slowly decreasing Lemonade, the ice at the bottom of the glass crunches and clink's against each other as she swerves the straw in a circle motion. She stops her hand motion, when she speaks her question. They take turn's asking questions but both of them answering and commenting on the others answer.

The following questions are asked in there little game of words:  
1) "Are you in a relationship?"

Santana answers "No." she laughed waiting for Brittany's answer, as she feels slight amount of anticipation.  
"Nope… Not since last year." Brittany pouts, Brittany has dropped a hint for the woman, but as she stares across at Santana no tell-tale sign was indicated on her complexion that she received it.

2) "What do you do for a living?"

"I am studying animal biology, and I work in a small vet's." Brittany puffed out her chest proudly.  
"Ooh I don't think I can top that." Santana hesitated making sure her fake life's occupation was prepared, but at the last minute she stated fuck it to herself "I am just unemployed" she shakes her hand as if to play it off as something she depressed to talk about.

3) "What did you want to be in High School?"

Santana hummed thinking "I wanted to be a cheerleader." She winked "But career wise I wanted to write songs."  
"I was a cheerleader!" Brittany screamed enthusiastic gaining a few looks in her direction from men at the bar, as she crawled half her body on to the table. "I wanted to be Disney princess, or a doctor." In a gasp, she then paused to seat herself properly.

4)"What do your parents do?"

Brittany sighed "I didn't know my real parents" she paused "I was adopted. My adopted mum was a midwife, and Jeff was a plumber." Brittany smiled even though her eyes hinted at past sadness.  
"My dad was a doctor. My mum is a hooker." Santana said calmly, taking Brittany shocked expression before screaming "JOKE!" and laughing lazily "You should see yourself. My mum is manager of a magazine company." She paused then took a breath "A porn magazine" she laughed again. "Stop it!" Brittany giggled, finally relaxing into the girls humour and presence.

Santana reached across the table downing the contense left in Brittany glass, her own bottle already empty the label peeled off and inserted into the bottle, due to Santana's wandering fingers. Santana then quickly excused herself from the table and went to use the bathroom.

When Santana comes out of the urine infested smelling bathroom that she was sure that she had seen a rat run across the floor, as she relieved herself of a pounding bladder.

She notices a guy leaning on the table of her booth talking to Brittany, she stops taking in the interaction a familiar heat building with in her.  
The man is about roughly 6 foot sporting his mousy brown hair combed back from his face, in a similar style to Elvis Presley, the burning voice in Santana's head tells her, to speak to this man about what 'era' it is. He is young, with a pale white skin that make his lips look more prominent, than what they really are. He flashes his wealth in the clothes he wears. A white shirt with the top buttons undone, a design blazer over the top. There is deep green handkerchief in the breast pocket. The sleeves are rolled up to his elbows, exposing a small green clover tattoo on the white canvas there. His black jeans coupled nicely with the black blazer. The golden belt buckle at his waist is also in the shape of a clover, the gold of it reflects the candle light. That is still sat on the centre of the booth table. It is clear to Santana the man doesn't belong here quite like Brittany.

His eyes roam over Brittany's body in a universal way that indicates that he is checking her out. His tongue slides over his lips in satisfaction of what he sees in front of him. Santana frown at this action her eyes turning a shade darker as the heat builds within her body. Brittany seems to laugh at something he said, but from the distance of where Santana is stood she cannot hear the words that are spoken, Santana feel's slight jealousy tickle through her body fuelling the heat in her, at the stranger being able to the make the blonde laugh so easily. The man smirks back at Brittany as if he scored some kind of points, on a stupid game.

Brittany was not a game.

At seeing the man leave Brittany once again, Santana used a quick pace to slide back into her side of the both. Santana let's her eyes follow the man crossing to the bar with a frowns upon her face she asked Brittany with her eyes glued to the man's head in hate "Do you want another drink?"

Brittany responds with a smile and shake of a head saying "It is fine, Rory is getting me one." she points across to the man that had been standing near the both when Santana exited the bathroom.

Santana swelling heat of anger lurched up her throat clawing to be let out, but she just nodded to Brittany.  
However quite unknown to Santana, Brittany notices a flicker of something cross Santana's eyes that makes her coil back into the, red booth's leather material. Santana gets up without a word moving to the bar, she stops to talk to Rory. "Hey, I was wondering if you would let a pretty girl in front, for the price of a kiss?" she slipped her well trained hand into his jean pocket, swiping his wallet from the warm place. Brittany was watching closely at the contact of Santana and Rory taking in everything even the small peck to Rory's cheek before he let her slide in front to get to the bar man first.

Santana orders a drink for her and Brittany and returns back to the both.

Looking sideways at Rory struggling to apologies and frown at the fact of not having his wallet when moments ago it was in his pocket. Brittany didn't know what to do or say at this, she struggles in an inner torture as she looks at the drink in front of her and back to Rory that was blushing and walking away with hunched shoulders.

Her blue eyes look at Santana that is grinning from ear to ear. Santana was relieved feeling her temper die down, to a low buzz as she played over and over the image of Rory shameful face she let her hand slide into her own pocket rubbing her finger over the leather wallet in content.

"What kind of person are you?" Brittany said her good conscious breaking through, her words slapping Santana mentally.

"What?" Santana asked not realizing she was caught, but slightly shocked at the new tone to Brittany's voice.

"He was only being nice. What am I? Your alibi s…so you don't get arrested?" Brittany stands as her own anger builds, she turns from Santana and the booth, running from the bar. She swerves the big gorilla like men without realizing there potential threat as they wave there pool cue's around. She hits the cold air of outside feeling tears burn down her face like acid, not believing how stupid she could be.

Santana looks up across the room sighing as she sees the blonde hair vanish outside. Now this was a common reaction for Santana, so use to people running.

She notices a mohawk from an alcove on the other side of the wall. Puck has been watching Santana since she got there he had even hinted for the Flanagan boy to try to get the blondes number. From the other side of the room he lift's his drink to her before taking a sip. On his table also sit's a white candle flickering with a burning criminalistics flame.

"Fuck" Santana Yelped extinguishing the flame with the Lemonade and running after Brittany, outside.

Brittany is ashamed at the thought's she once had at thinking the woman was more than Rachel had said to her. Her head was hung low as she cried at being, so stupid. ''Stupid Brittany, stupid." she whispered over and over as she slammed her fist into her head. Santana was shallow and spiteful and this was just some sick game to her.

"BRITTANY WAIT!" Santana screamed into the dark night air as she burst through the door, letting it slam back with a thud.

"Why should I?" Brittany said weakly through her hair that stuck to her face with the salty tears that still rolled down her face.


	5. Chapter 5

Thank you, you precious readers. Also I tilt my hat in the direction of Imagine Brittana !  
I am not sure how my studies will affect the production of this story as of yet...Sigh. So bare with the world of education with me. Anyway Enjoy!

* * *

Previously

_"BRITTANY WAIT!" Santana screamed into the dark night air as she burst through the door, letting it slam back with a thud._

_"Why should I?" Brittany said weakly through her hair that stuck to her face with the salty tears that still rolled down her face._

* * *

"Maybe, because you have noother way of getting home?" Santana grinned thinking, that the girl would now have to apologise to her, to enable Brittany to get home safely.

"You know what? Fuck you Santana, fuck you." Brittany whimpered, trying to bring the strength back into her words. "I don't need you to basically… Kill both of us on that stupid bike." As she gained the strength back to her words her voice begin to rise. "You are a con, I see what you did! What…You're a thief!?" Brittany stepped towards Santana as she screamed the last of her words at the top of her lungs. Her face had turned red as the heat of her anger reached the pale skin there.

The words had lashed a hole into Santana's being, realising the sleeping demon of anger that lived within her. "If you don't like it," Santana gripped onto Brittany's forearms, pulling her into her so they were close to each other's faces, so close that Brittany was able to feel Santana's heated breath on her skin, smell the spice of Santana engulfing her, making her head spin and swirl.  
Santana's voice became deeper, turning into a gritty purr "Then die here." She whispered for only Brittany and the night to hear. Santana stopped herself, realizing what she was thinking of doing, what she was going to do if she held on to the blonde any longer. She managed to push Brittany to the side with the last of her willpower.

She pushed her away before those flickering images in her mind ended up becoming a reality, which would force her to actually grab the blonde hair in her fists and smash Brittany's skull against the concrete sidewalk repeatedly, until the blonde's blood flowed in a never ending stream from the caved in head.

Brittany stumbled back from the force of Santana's push, and fell to the floor.

"Fuck you, if you don't like my bike then." Santana said. Saddling the black vehicle, she looked back one last time to see the blonde on the floor, and said "Well let's see how you survive, Barbie," before driving off and letting the night engulf her into the darkness, just like she felt, engulfed in darkness.

Brittany was left alone in the grungy car park, her sobs rattling through her. After hearing screams come from her left, she lifted her head in the direction, freezing to listen carefully, before she heard the screams closer. She busted into a sprint along the road in the direction of what she thought home was in.

She stopped at the all night diner she passed on Santana's motorbike, her breath deep and heart pounding adrenalin around her body. She swung the diner door open and settled herself in the nearest booth near the door, ready to run if anything happens. She pulled her phone out, tears splashing down, covering the mobile screen as her finger slid across it.

"Quinn will you come get me?"

Quinn was sitting on her couch when she heard the phone ring, relief washing over her as she saw the caller ID displayed on her screen. She had been worrying about how Brittany was after she left her earlier with a disappointed smile.

She suddenly felt so much happier as she switching off the TV "B?" she hummed into the phone. But soon as she had said it, she realized the girl was crying. She stood up and began to pace nervously. "what? Where are you? What's happened?" she rallied her list off.

After a few gulps, trying to steady her tears and voice, Brittany responded with the area of where she thought she was.

"I will be there in a bit, Britt, hold tight." Quinn hung up cursed "Shit." to no one in particular before grabbing her keys and running out of the apartment, almost forgetting to lock the door in her haste. She took the stairs, knowing it would be faster, and was soon in her yellow Beetle car driving as fast as the speed limit could go. She tapped impatiently on the steering wheel at the red lights and stop signs but eventually she got to 'Barbra's' diner.

She slipped into the booth next to Brittany, engulfing her in a hug and peppering kisses to her forehead and hair "I am here Britt-Britt, it is okay, I am here." She managed to get Brittany to her car, but passers-by must have thought them crazy or drunk out of their minds as they stumbled and fell to get to the yellow clown car. Brittany broke down in hysterics as soon as the passenger door had clicked closed. The entire evening was catching up with her body; the fear, the betrayal, covering her entire emotion system with a flood of salty tears.

"What happened, B?" Quinn asked in the silence of the car with the ever so often sniff from Brittany's side as she drove back the way she came at a slower pace.

Brittany had calmed down a lot since the diner and was staring absently out the window, her forehead resting against the cold panel. Quinn knew what was coming; after the emotion, Brittany would retreat into the protective layer of stupidity or vow to be silent.

"I don't want to talk about it, Quinn," She huffed.

Quinn gripped the steering wheel, getting a little irritated even though she knew that Brittany would respond like that "Well I want to know why you were in that part of town, I told you not to. Have you been drinking?"

"No." Brittany closed her eyes before continuing "I was with someone and they just left me."

"They left you there? Who are they, Britt? I am being serious, tell me who did this to you?" Quinn said between glances back to the road.

"No one."

"B, honey, I am not mad, I just want to know."

"You sound mad…"Brittany stated, pulling her lip into her mouth with her teeth.

"I am just shocked, that's all."

Brittany sighed and mumbled "Santana."

Quinn frowned and then realized who she was talking about.

Quinn Knew a lot of high status people in the right places, but why wouldn't she? She was the type of person you instantly fell in love with, but dig a little deeper and spend time with her and you would fall out of love as fast as a road runner.

She had of course won her case today at Law School in a Court room. It was surreal, the feeling of accomplishing things, the feeling of winning. It never got old, it made Quinn's heart beat and her stomach flip, and it made her grin and wish to dance silly like Brittany does, twirling in circles, kicking her legs up, tip toeing and forever having that goofy smile upon her features as she does it. When Quinn wins she only wishes to share it with one person, Brittany. She can feel the butterflies in her stomach flutter at the thought of her friend's warm arms around her body.

Quinn had learned who to talk to in order to learn things about people. In the case of 'Santana Lopez' she simply asked for the woman's file, to the young male whose eyes followed her like a stray dog. What was his name; Fred? Francis? Whatever his name, he served the purpose.

By lunch time she had been handed the file, people simply thinking it was for another case the school wanted her to do. She only wanted to make sure Brittany would be safe, that wasn't being obsessive. That wasn't creepy. Was it? She frowned down at the file but decided to turn the page to open the contents of the dawning brown paper in front of her. Her hands slightly moist with the possibilities, but after all what harm could a file do?

What she found though had shocked her and took her back to a time before she met Brittany, a time before herself, before Quinn Fabray existed.

She could hear the propelling zoom of the rides as they flashed an array of lights across her vision. The noises of one arm bandits, simulators and motion rides enfolded her into a sea of sound. Teenagers were screaming at each other over the sound, their carefree laughter joining the force of sound. There was a girl standing alone, firing at the zombies on the screen of an arcade game, rifle up to her face. She possessed quick skill, killing the virtual enemy with no hesitation.

Lucy was watching as she sat alone in the food court that was slightly raised, overlooking the game area. She observed the teenagers, many from her own year at school, with a lust for what they have. Her hand picked up some fries from her plastic container every so often; she gobbled the cheese and salt covered fries with satisfaction and wiped her hand against her baggy shirt, rubbing the thick grease into the fibre.

She had seen the girl, who was currently blowing up zombies with a smirk, before. The girl was in her Science Class, but Lucy had never spoken to her. The dark haired girl was an outsider like Lucy's own overweight self, that had found herself at the very bottom of the social spectrum, although Lucy wished not to associate with the other deemed to suffer the same fate. Besides, Lucy Quinn Fabray had a plan, in that plan there was no need for friends, not yet anyway.

Quinn closed her mouth, her mind burning with new knowledge and old knowledge combining and fusing. Santana's file was not bizarre, but it also wasn't anywhere close to normal. All of Quinn's body was telling, her with every thud of her heart, that the woman in number 8 was definitely up to something.

She helped Brittany into the apartment, but the girl refused to state anything else on the matter of 'Santana lopez', instead deciding to crawl under her duvet and sleep it off like a sickly fever.

Heartbreak was a shattering burn and soon after, jealousy and rage followed its way into Quinn's body. Like a plague it killed her good news dead on her lips. All she could feel was her own tears building up behind her eyes, she choked them back gulping them down and latching herself onto the jealousy and rage, with all her self-centred spite. A constant question repeating itself over and over in her head 'How could someone do that to her Brittany?'

Soon enough she had stomped herself across to Santana's apartment door. She stared at the gold number '8' on the wooden frame, before grinding her teeth and swinging her hand into the door a few times.

Santana had been in the house for a whole hour and had walked from one room to another, just to end up back in her living area. She didn't know what to do with herself; she wanted alcohol; no, she wanted something else but she couldn't place what; not the cold satisfaction of sex from some stubborn male that refused to let her on top, due to feeling like they were getting emasculated. She ran her hands through her hair, tapping her foot. She wanted to hurt someone.

She could feel it burn in her stomach. She needed to see the light go out in their eyes that could never reach her own. It was a craving; desperate, deadly and disgusting. But deep under that feeling, she felt another that she couldn't place, it made her feel empty, like she had missed something.

She smiled. Settling on the realisation of what she wanted to do, she grabbed her jacket from the couch, ready to leave her home. Just as she was about to swing the door open, a rap on the door's wood took her by surprise and she raised a perfectly trimmed eyebrow at the door.

Santana saw the blonde woman standing with her arms crossed. She was a little taller than Santana but that didn't bother her, she was attractive but the aggressive mask on her face did little for her.

Quinn began with no sign of hesitation "Who do you think you are?" Quinn screamed. Santana came across to Quinn more intimidating than what she first predicted. The woman's presence in front of her began to make her mind cloud with doubt of what she was doing there in the first place.

Santana however, was calm and collected when she responded "Santana, and you?"

Santana was definitely different from what Quinn was expecting. The woman seemed bored with her, she had no reactions like a normal human been would have; no slight alarm or questioning looks.

That was not going for Quinn, she had never been overlooked in such a way that made her want to lock herself away for days for a long time, this fuelled the fire that was extinguishing within her. She remembered how she and Brittany had first became friends through that same hurt and overlooked treatment she had received from Santana that she had grown accustom to by her father; the only thing that was missing was the violent slap that blurred her vision and left her face red raw. Brittany had saved her with friendship back then, but now she could repay her debt.  
"How dare you?! How dare you leave Brittany there, what did you think you were doing? If I ever see you near my girlfriend again I will expose you for what you are! You hear me? I know about your dad and all those shady records. I know you!" Quinn eyes widened after she realised the word she had slipped up on she said 'girlfriend' not friend like she had meant to. She completely forgot about Santana in that moment, the question being asked in her head to be unanswered 'what would Brittany think?' and 'Would Brittany even want to be my friend now?'

Quinn swallowed the saliva in her mouth audibly loud she felt it, that she was Lucy it was reappearing the weakness, it made her feel like she was in an antsy position and Santana was the only human.

"Okay, look here Psycho Pants, I know you think you're her "girlfriend"- Santana waved her hand in animated quotation marks at the word 'girlfriend' before letting her hands fall to a comfortable cross. "-but Brittany doesn't have one. Wait, oh I get it, you're some kind of stalker? Well good for you Honey, but before you make threats to people you better realise what they can do to you. So move out the way before I ends you."

"No!" Quinn stated reluctant, in a lower tone than what she was using previously "You hurt her, can't you s..see that, and you're attacking me? I am wasting my time on you." Lucy's stutter broke back through into her word making Quinn's entire body cringe and go ridged, but she would do this for Brittany.

Santana smiled at how she could reduce people to half of what they were originally, and confidently broke down the previously strong woman in front of her "Oh wait, I hurt her? She is the one who 'refused' to get on the bike you half-wit. But that's right; Psycho Pants here doesn't have all the details. What happened, your binoculars break?"

"Just apologise." Quinn said, staring down at her feet in defeat.

"Or what?" Santana said pushing, Quinn back over so that she stumbled and fell against the far wall for support.

Santana closed her door. While locking it she wondered how many more people she would have to push away. She looked at the pathetic girl across from her and with one final wink, headed down the stairs. 'Great' she thought to herself, hating the steaming burning need, that would have her run back and slaughter the girl where she leaned.

But she refused to do that, which only made her question why she wouldn't do it. She could, so very easily, 'but the girl might be friends with Brittany.' Why didn't she want to hurt Brittany anymore?

"Aah fuck fuck fuck" she muttered under her breath as she descended the stairs. She was becoming attached; such a pathetic emotion. Maybe Quinn's words had touched her, or there was something she was missing.

She decided to head back to the bar, where her plan went wrong. After all, she did have history with the bar, always turning up when her luck was down and finding a way out. She skimmed the area with her dark observant orbs. Realizing Puck had moved on, she sat down at the bar, ordered a drink and began sipping on the whiskey, swirling the contents every so often as she had a heated discussion in her head.

Lost in her own mind, she didn't realize when Rory, the man from earlier, slid onto the stool next to her.

"Rough night?" he asked.

Santana made a discontent mumble at his small talk; it irritated the monster inside of her that just wanted to only be alone now. "You could say that." she said, still not looking at him, wanting the confirmation as fast as possible if he would play a part in the game of her life.

"I had my wallet stolen. So much for nice area." he joked. She looked at him and nodded, he looked away as soon as her eyes dragged across his face.

It was always the same; if she looked at them they couldn't hold the eye contact; they would fidget like lab rat underneath a hammer. Brittany seemed to be the only one who could look into her eyes, she liked that. She downed the rest left in the glass and looked him up and down. He looked younger than her, successful too she hummed to herself. 'He did fuck your plan up' the voice inside her head whispered. "What you say you and me get out of here?" Rory looked at her, a smile spreading across his lips. 'Typical' the voice whispered again in her head. Santana she extended her hand he took it. He smiled deeper, but still didn't look her in the eyes.

She stumbled into her apartment, juggling with Rory and the door, letting her tongue battle with his and for dominance she bit his lip, agitated at him trying to beat her. He let her win (as if he had a choice) and take control as she kicked her door closed. She scrunched her eyes up, trying to make her body like his sloppy tongue and extra saliva that seem to be gushing from his mouth. Her body refused to like it, but she acted it out anyway as she thought to herself 'Is there something wrong with me? I always hear girls talking about it being the best feeling, why do I never feel anything? Shut up Santana, you're not meant to think when you're doing this.'

His hands reached out, cupping her breasts through her the material of her clothes as she directed him to her bedroom, remembering to pretend moan at his action. He broke the kiss to grab much needed oxygen and to look down to his belt to undo the buckle. Santana stopped him with her own hands, reaching to the buckle as she brought her lips back to his as she unclasped it without difficulty, accustomed to the role she was playing. She hated this man, that's what made it bearable, but she still wasn't turned on. This would be embarrassing on her part if by the time his manhood was ready to slide into her, she was as dry as the desert. It would be rough against her.

She still did not let her actions slow. Rory kicked his shoes off and shrugged his trousers down his thin pale legs, nudging them to the side with his white socks that were turning black. She threw her white tank top to the other side of the room, exposing muscular abs to him. He hummed his appreciation as she attempted to swallow the vile taste in her mouth, she undid her trousers, knowing he was watching her every move and getting more and more turned on by it.

She needed to think of someone, anyone she would rather have sex with. That's when blue eyes flashed in her mind. 'Seriously' she thought, but not having any time to spare, she went with it. With both of them now in their underwear she straddled his lap as he sat on her king sized bed, kissing his neck slowly. Her eyes closed, pretending to feel soft pale skin as she ran her hand across his stomach imagining it was more fragile and elegant to her fingers. If she concentrated hard enough, she could feel soft hair against her face.

She felt the cold air come into contact with her back as he unclasped her bra and she shrugged it away. She felt rough fingers touch her breasts and squeeze them a bit too hard, but she imagined the fingers thinner and softer as she pulled the boxers off him and discarded them.

'mm, Brittany' she thought to herself as she let her tongue slide against his. She felt his penis slide into her and she rocked into him as he lay back onto her bed, his hand enclosed round her hips. She rocked down, thinking only of blonde hair, she surprised herself by wanting this, liking it even. He thrust deeper into her but she could feel her hand move of its own accord against the sheet at her side, in similar thrusting motions as if she was in fact making Brittany feel the same as she felt, she moaned "Fuck me harder Britt!"

Rory, too engulfed in his own pleasure to realize the name slip, thrust himself deeper within her. She imagined breasts rubbing delicately against her own. He started to slow but Santana refused to have that; she thrust herself on top of him, rocking her hips desperately, then she eventually felt the wave of pleasure rip through her. She moaned louder, screaming "BRITTANY!" and falling on top of the man beneath her, who instantly pushed her off.

"What?" he questioned. She opened her eyes to look at him. "You said Brittany? Are you? Oh my god…" he said rambling on, his voice angered.

Santana had rolled to the edge of her bed, the sheets peeling from her sweaty body as she grabbed the item from her night stand. A normal person would hear their heart beating, pulsing the warm life liquid around there cold sweat covered body; a normal person would be scared of their actions. Not Santana, she did not crave or suddenly need more oxygen. She could smell the inevitable, the cold wooden patterned handle already imprinting in her skin from the hold she had on the blade. It already had become part of her, it clenched with her muscles. Her eyes gleamed with hidden dependency, never to be seen. She let her eyes wander over the man once more, his sweaty and disgusted expression staining her eyes.

She let the knife guide her as she kicked herself up into the air, using her weight to drag the cold silver blade smashing back down into his heart. "Shut up." She said, pulling the knife back out with a slight grunt, then rolling out of the tangled mess of sheets.

His eyes where wide in shock, his breathing becoming more forced and heavy as the red pool grew bigger across the left side of his chest. She watched him silently fall, the tattoo on her shoulder burning slightly. She made her way towards him with small, sure steps while she contemplated her word's "Do you know what Rory? You just made this shit a whole lot more personal than you could ever realise." In these instances Santana was at her most vulnerable, not in the moments before which could be seen as intimate, but when she was the only upcoming survivor.

She leaned forward grabbed his hair and lifted his head up with a pull. Rory whimpered, his eyes rolling around in his head. She moved her left hand with the knife across his throat in a quick swift motion, creating a large gash straight across his jugular. Freeing the blood to splutter out in all direction, she let go of his hair, his body slouching down with his eyes wide, open in a fish like gaze with no life behind them.

She grabbed the end of the sheets Rory still lay on and pulled the lifeless man along to the bathroom, blood not yet soaking to the floor, all while her body still exposed to the room.

She laid him down on the plain white laminated floor of the bathroom, resting herself to sit on the cold metal edge of the bath so she could take in the appearance of the man. He had a slight shine of sweat covering his body, quite like her own. His top half was covered in the dark red liquid that intoxicated her in utter fascination, she breathed in taking in the scent of iron and sweat, Documenting it all to her memory.

She slid herself along the bath so she could reach the mirror styled cabinet on the wall and take out the shaver that lived there. She set it down in a place next to Rory's head and skipped out the room into her kitchen, where she filled a plastic bucket full of boiling water being careful to only use her right hand, as the other was covered in the sticky drying red.

Santana was exceptionally good at cleaning, she remembered how her father would scream at her, until in his mind her room was perfect.

She placed disinfectant in the water and washed her left hand free of blood, feeling a small dissatisfaction that she could not rub herself with the beautiful liquid.

She moved her naked body through to the spare bedroom, grabbing a pair of sweatpants and a paper over all that she stored in there. With that she walked back into the living room, pushing the leather couch to the side, with the thrust of her foot. She pried a few floorboards up and grabbed the bucket of knives that resided below.

She carried both buckets to the bathroom, the bucket of water being carefully balanced so not to spill it'. She set them carefully down in the bath, as if every movement was an art form, well-practiced over a long time of repetition.

She grabbed the shaver and proceeded to shave all the hair off of his body, which she stuffed into a Wal-Mart plastic bag. She then used a knife to cut around his tattoo and placed it in the bag.

Retrieving a large white body bag, she zipped Rory's body up in it like cocoon and grabbed the rope that was also kept in the same place as her knives. Tying the area of his ankles with a knot and threading the other end of the thick rope through a hanging gold loop in the ceiling, she pulled the dead weight to the ceiling. When Rory was hanging upside down, suspended in the white bag, she tied it to one of the bath taps, so the blood could be collected in the bottom of the bag where his head was.


	6. Chapter 6

Well events... I lost the Beta I once had mourn the loss of 'ImagineBrittana' but still go read her stuff. (thats how nice, I am.) I know it has been a long time since I reappeared, in my defence summer is over and my schedule is crap. So sorry. I am trying to improve on all levels and hopefully after I finish the essays I have piling up, we will be good to run with it.

* * *

Chapter 6

Santana stood in the kitchen and poured a mixture of red fruits into the blender. Once satisfied with the amount, she pressed the button down, blending the fruit together. She watched as the blades cut the fruit into slush in front her. She grinned as she picked up the cup of blood she had already previously filled. Rory's blood splashed into the blender and she watched as the mixed fruit churned with darker red.

She hummed a tune, smiling to herself as she collected a plastic cup from her cupboard and poured the mixture into the container, grabbing the plastic lid and straw and placing them on the cup top.

She turned on the spot, letting her hair spiral around her as she grabbed the chocolate milk from the inside of her white fridge door.

After successfully managing to exit her apartment with the two drinks she headed to Rachel's door.

That blonde-haired, hazel green eyed girl was right, in a way. She did have to apologise to two people, acting like this was just going to make it harder to talk to Brittany.

She had sat cross-legged, elbows on her knees propping her head up, for hours. Talking to Rory she stared at his upside down face questioning him. The dead man was much better company than when he was alive, occasionally she would lean forward and flick the blood droplets that had clung to the plastic of his cocoon. Her questions were mainly revolving around Brittany, but sometimes she would sarcastically ask what he was thinking, what his views and opinions were.

Santana needed to make amends. She knocked a couple of times on the door, lighter than her usual charming smash. She breathed in, the pressure inside her building as she got more frustrated. She frowned at the wood and she eventually swung her foot viciously into the door before laughing.

Having no luck with the Broadway midget, she found herself outside of the apartment she was sure was Brittany's. Unlike at Rachel's, she found that her hand was hovering in the air as if tasting the atmosphere of the hidden rooms behind the door, as if her hand was curious if it would be needed today. Eventually she breathed out a shaky breath she was sure she hadn't even breathed in. Not being able to hold the items in her right hand any longer, she let her fist fall against the door.

Within seconds the door was opened to a smile that suddenly dropped from the blonde girl's features.

"What do you want?" Quinn asked, looking Santana up and down.

Santana was bemused, she couldn't help the smile that was curling up on her lips. She felt like lying down and kicking her legs up and screaming with laughter. Dead Rory and the discussion she had with him and that small theory was right, a silly little idea was right.

"Well?" Quinn spoke, bringing the door slightly forward.

Santana smiled, shifting herself with a shimmer of her dark jacket into the charming layer of personality.

"You were right, I was reckless? I can't change what I did, but I can apologise?" Santana held the smoothie originally meant for Rachel, out towards Quinn. "This is for you, is Brittany in?" Santana raised an eyebrow, slowly cocking her head studying Quinn's facial features, there was something about them, she was hard to study.

Quinn took the smoothie hesitantly, she was about to tell Santana that Brittany wasn't in. But before she could conjure up a lie Brittany slowly appeared over her shoulder gasping out "Santana?" and stepping back.

Santana's eyes flickered up, catching Brittany in her vision. For some reason she looked different to Santana today, she smiled gently. She couldn't help think how the light sparkled through her blonde hair as if God was pleased with the creation he had made. The small 'o' shape her lips made after she gasped, perfectly pink. Santana licked her lips, stealing a moment before she saw the red rings deep under the blue blood shot eyes that were faded. Santana frowned, No…No… No Santana felt it with her body, the growling anger. Brittany wasn't meant to be sad, she was meant to say okay and… well that's as far as her plan with cocoon Rory had went. If not for the audience she would have slammed her fist into the wall and wailed like an injured animal about to be shot by the farmer.

Quinn broke her out of her daze "Well here she is."

"Sorry, I like to leave men hanging, why should women be different? " She smiled flirtatiously at Quinn who looked down at the smoothie and took a long gulp from its straw.

Santana looked back to Brittany she handed her the bottle of chocolate milk over Quinn's protective shoulder.

"Can I talk to you alone?"

Brittany thought for a moment "Quinn I will be fine, I'll be just out in the hall."

Quinn was about to protest but she decide against it, nodding before sulking away.

Brittany took the milkshake closing the door behind her. "Soo…"

Santana began mastering the perfect script, a play so brilliant in her mind that Shakespeare himself would not better it. She moved herself slightly at a sideways angle so her dark eyes could glue to Brittany's face and estimate each emotion as she spun the web of lies.

"I shouldn't have reacted the way I did, I am sorry for that…For pushing you. I admit I shouldn't have stolen his wallet. But I was so embarrassed that I couldn't afford to pay for our drinks. I am broke, it is no excuse. But straight away I went back to the bar to find you. I handed his wallet into the bar owner too."

Brittany was studying Santana's face, watching the dark coffee brown eyes with her own blue ones. She whispered the thought in her mind, leaning forward to study Santana's reaction in more detail. "Are you lying?"

Brittany watched Santana's brow crease, she heard the slight gulp of saliva as Santana flushed it down her throat. Santana's eyes had started filling with the clear liquid of tears when she spoke the simple word "No."

Santana's heart was pounding so much so that she had to turn her head and walk away. But Brittany's words stopped her from getting to the safety of her apartment.

"You are just like Quinn…" Brittany waited for the girl to turn all the way around.

Santana didn't, but instead picked a spot on the wall to bore her eyes into, Santana hated the comparison, but also secretly liked it; being compared to someone normal made her feel normal.

"You both try to be strong, burying your feelings. You both think you are like the alpha wolf, but you forget I am not a cub."

Santana turned around at that she smiled slightly at the way Brittany had worded it. But Brittany continued.

"I am not forgiving you for leaving me, for stealing…"

Brittany watched the woman's face as it dropped and suddenly rose back up to a cold mask. It reminded her of their first encounter; how her eyebrows had raised, her mouth dropping before placing on her face the stern line of indifference. She had many times seen Quinn's version of this face, the half-smile with the fluttering eyes trying to grasp her emotions together and not show the world. That was what made Brittany reconsider, knowing the torment that Quinn had and the friendship she still held with the blonde. That's what she would tell Quinn later, when she was against the idea.

"-But who is to judge a book by its title?"

Santana turned her body all the way around to face Brittany; she couldn't help it, she actually let a real smile break out. She eased back slightly, her heart managing to calm to a faintly slower pace.

Santana, Quinn and Brittany were all seated in the living room. The T.V was tuned in to a cooking show no one was watching and Brittany was busy circling job vacancies in the newspaper on the coffee table. She was on her knees on the cream carpet, with a fine liner red pen behind her ears, every so often shouting the name of a job out at Santana who was staring blankly at the chef on T.V in his white suit as he hobbled backwards and forwards shoving multiple vegetables in the boiling water of a pan. Santana had originally preferred the sight of Brittany's round toned bottom through the tight blue jeans, but the warm feeling in the pit of her stomach began to build and lower, which made her blush and turn away. Quinn was nestled in the corner mostly angled away from the T.V and facing the other two girls in the room. She had been frowning at the large law book in her lap for most of the time Santana was here, she had also frowned occasionally at Brittany and hadn't really muttered much after the 'oh' of acknowledgement, when Brittany explained Santana was coming in.

"How about a cook? You make a nice smoothie." Quinn said, not looking up from the text book in her lap.

Santana replied the same as she had with most of the ones Brittany had previously mentioned with a weak "No" and full explanation of why "I can only make the items that don't require the cooking part. I burn things."

Quinn nodded, not bothering to even listen after the No. Quinn could see through Santana's act; she knew that the reason there was so many 'no's was that she just didn't want a job, the amount of effort Brittany was applying into this cause was disappointing, it was time wasted on someone undeserving of her attention. Jealousy was curled up in the corner with Quinn and he wasn't leaving her alone any time soon.

Santana's phone buzzed she wrinkled her nose, but was happy that her mother had given her something to occupy her time with. The boredom had increased to an excruciating level in the last ten minutes, it wasn't Brittany's fault that Santana could never work, making all of these jobs that she was spending her time hauling through pointless. If you wanted someone to blame, it would either be Puck or her father Alabeto Lopez. Even to this day from beyond the grave Alabeto Lopez was impacting her life destroying anything she could have, how she hated that man with every inch of her body with a burning passion which made her body shiver with the overcoming images.

Santana was ten years old at the time, she was sitting on the swing in the back garden kicking her legs up and flopping them back down in effort to propel herself to where the snowflakes were falling from in the dark. She liked the snow, how it could be moulded into anything you wanted, all of the flakes so small creating larger amounts. The fact it could disappear so easily, sweeping itself away from the land until it decided to fall again, 'The great rebellious snow' she use to call it for the fact that its nature to be so cold but yet so beautiful, never just one person's, never just one thing.

Last winter she had realised that the only way to stay warm before she was allowed inside by her mother was to run around or use the old rusty swing. Her dark hair was past her shoulder in braids, her fur hood covering most of her face. Her hands that were tightly gripped to the rusted chains were the coldest part of her body.

She went to check her wrist, fumbling with the sleeve of the fur coat until she could see the clock face. It was 6:10pm. She brought the swing to a slow stop before sliding off of it. It swung slowly in the breeze, colliding with her leg "Mamá?" Santana questioned, raising her voice and waiting, but only the slight rustle of the breeze answered her. She was 40 minutes late.

Impulsively, Santana walked herself through the snow around to the servant door at the side of the house. She tuned the round door handle that had a lion's face engraved in the gold colored knob and entered the house, welcoming the warmth of the home.

"Mamá?" she shouted, but still no answer came back to her ears. She took a breath of the cold air behind her and closed the door. In front of her was the stairs and a door to the left that was ajar was the kitchen. Stepping on the stairs she made her way up through the servants' area at the back, heading to her room. It was dark, but years of coming and going enabled her to move around this part of the house without injury.

As she reached the third floor she stopped, hearing the screaming of two familiar voices her father and mother. Instead of going to the small door in the wall that lead to another set of narrow stairs to the attic, which was her room, she followed the noise to one of the many rooms on the third floor. Her eyes illuminated with golden light from the lamp within the room as she watched the interaction of her parents.

Her father was a tall man of six foot, towering over the small frame of her mother, who barely reached five foot two. He had a mess of untameable wild dark hair tinged with silver specks of insane grey. He was pacing backwards and forth, running his hand anxiously through his hair and scratching the dark facial hair of his full beard. Santana could hear the deep breaths coming from his open mouth. He wore only the white shirt and black trousers from his suit, the tail of the loose white shirt lifting up as he paced.

His voice came out broken and wild, as if he had finally found the answer "Your daughter; you did not successfully use contraception, you deal with it." He laughed slightly at the end, a deranged giggle that was lost into the room.

"What do you think I have been doing?" With her mother's words, Santana's eyes cast down to the frail body that was bound to the dark black of the wooden chair in the centre of the room. Silver duct tape held Santana's mother in place, her hair a knotted mess slung across the sickly paleness of her tanned skin. Serena's eyes were wide with fear as she stared at her husband.

Alabeto's hand raised and the noise of the hand colliding with Serena's face echoed round the room. Santana in the passage took a step back.  
"You gave birth to a demon! Disgracing the family! Disgrace!" He screamed wildly, saliva being sprayed around and attacking the surfaces it landed on with a sticky splash.

Serena puffed out a terrified sigh as she lifted her head higher, the red mark visible underneath the curly tattered mess of hair. "She is ten. Ten, so she kissed a girl in the playground; she is ten…por favour"

"Do you not educate her?! You don't, she is a sin! The demon will consume us!"

His eyes glowed with anger and lustful insanity with a deep, growing black pupil that pulsed with every word, as if a wild ravishing demon was within his own soul.

"You treated her as a sin before this. Surely you can see, she is your daughter, she is a child."

"Callate perra" he roared smacking his fist into her face in a punch. He slowly walked to the table to the side of the room, out of sight from Santana's view. He grabbed a silver knife in his right hand and then rested on his knees, facing the door where Santana still stood with wide eyes.

Alabeto's eyes were closed while he ran the knife across his chest, blood seeping its way through the white material in long straight lines across his chest.

He muttered under his breath "May god forgive us for the sins of our family, for the sins of my bed. I shall treat her as a sin and be at your mercy. Amen."

His eyes flashed open, catching that of his daughter's. The coldness ran through Santana, jerking her back into the present time.

"You okay?" Brittany asked. She and Quinn were both staring at Santana from their spots in the room.

Santana blinked as she read the message on the screen.

Text Read: "Santana, is there anything that they are allergic to? xx"  
Santana moved her fingers fast across the screen keys and hit send  
Sent: "I am asking them now."

Santana looked at Brittany's worried blue eyes "Yeah….I just I have something to ask..." Santana let her hands stroke down the black leather of her jacket.

From the chair across the room Quinn cocked her head, watching the exchange between the two girls. Santana was fidgeting. She looked dazed to Quinn, as if Santana was looking from a different angle; she couldn't gather what had changed in the woman. The difference between the way she was looking at Brittany, Quinn didn't like that look it reminded her of that boy 'Mike Chang' that had attempted to swing Brittany to the straight team. She shivered thinking of Santana wanting Brittany, the way she did. Although there were no other traits that gave away that she may be inclined to like women.

Brittany was still waiting patiently, watching how Santana fidgeted. She, like Quinn, also noticed a slight change; it was curious. Brittany couldn't figure her out; for Brittany, figuring out people's minds had never been a problem; she could even understand animal's minds. But as she sat staring into dark brown eyes, she couldn't speak for their behalf, she couldn't feel any emotion reflected in them. They were a closed door, more closed than Quinn's had ever been; there were no cracks of emotion, no change of posture that would set an alarm bell ringing in her head. Santana was like an onion, so many layers, she could make you cry, but that was because you were hurting her; digging an emotional knife through the layers. Brittany's question was how had she hurt Santana?

"I was wondering if you wanted to come to this family dinner thing my mum is preparing this weekend." There was silence as Santana held her breath in and Brittany thought her answer over.

This girl had hurt her and although Brittany had said she 'hadn't forgiven her' she had secretly forgiven the woman, she wasn't sure why. There was something about Santana's entire presence that seemed to overpower Brittany, tingling every small sense she had, to a point where she wanted to fall down the rabbit hole into Santana's brain understand all the façade, understand what she felt. Part of her was curious about Santana's family; would they hold the secrets to unmask this woman? Would it show her who she was? Brittany knew she would go mad attempting to try, over and over, to figure the girl out. She hardly knew Santana and already she had hurt her to a point where she was bawling in a street. But what if she brought Quinn along, surely she would be safer in a two rather than a one.

"Sure me and Quinn would love to come, right Quinn?" Brittany chirped happily a smile spread across her features.

Quinn looked at Brittany and then back to a surprised looking Santana. Santana wasn't inviting Quinn, that was quite clear. Quinn smiled slightly, relishing in the fact Brittany just wanted her there. She was still more in the loop than Santana was, for now.

"Yeah, we would love to." Quinn smiled, her eyes boring a black hole into the side of Santana's face.

Friday morning Brittany was shuffling through the heaps of clothes spread across the pink bed sheets. She tossed stray underwear into the rucksack on the floor at the end of her bed.

Music was blasting from the stereo in the corner of the room as Brittany did a couple of spins when the electric guitar kicked in. Then all of a sudden the sound was shut off by an un-amused Quinn. Brittany's lip fell into a pout as she turned to glare at Quinn and demand her music be placed back on.

"Brittany, I still think this is a bad idea." Quinn said before Brittany had a chance to voice her own thoughts.

Brittany half smiled at her best friend "Quinn, I thought we had went over this? If what we find is bad, I won't talk to her, ever again." Brittany dropped the pink bra into the rucksack that she still had in her hand before coming closer, stopping inches from Quinn.

Quinn looked up into those piercing blue eyes; she could get lost in the pure honesty in them from, the promise she had just voiced clear in her eyes. "I just don't get what there is to find out…She is a bitch, B?" Quinn pushed passed Brittany so she could think without the warmth of Brittany tickling her nerve endings that caused her head to spin.

Brittany followed Quinn with her gaze, this conversation having happened over and over again since they agreed to go. "I don't know Quinn, there is just more to her. I can feel it, but…"

Quinn cut her off, not wanting to hear it. "Not everyone is me, Brittany."

Quinn moved back to her room and grabbed her clothes for the two nights' stay and once Brittany had packed what she wanted, Quinn shoved her items into the same rucksack and shouldered the bag, But a warm hand peeled it away from her shoulder and slung it against her own broader one. Quinn smiled, it was small things that made her heart flutter about Brittany: the goofy smile when she saw something she liked, the nervous look when she was caught with the frying pan over her head in attempt to squat a fly, as if it was some villain. That yellow duck onesie she paired with the green frog slippers. Although she hadn't liked the whole commotion and the after conversations on agreeing to travel to California, to Santana's mothers house. Quinn's younger years had been spent in that state, and a lot closer to Santana than anyone would have expected. Her vulnerabilities were there, and she wasn't looking forward to a five hour flight with Santana Lopez, the so called 'Broke Girl' who had somehow managed to borrowed money from her mother and a man named Puckerman to arrange for flights for them. Quinn could see the lies clearly, the fact that no-one that is skint could pay for the things that Santana was paying for. The real question on Quinn's mind was why could Brittany not?

On the drive to the airport, Brittany and Santana both seated themselves in back seats of the yellow Beatle car, leaving Quinn alone with her thoughts and a listening ear to the conversation that took place behind her between the two women. The chirpy happiness of Brittany mixed with a deeper charismatic one. Santana's interactions were down to a science, as if measured out before spoken. With every word the Latina said Brittany's happiness grew. Quinn kept glancing in her mirror to see their expressions, but with New York traffic it was proving difficult.


End file.
